A First Time For Everything
by Sephraem
Summary: What do you get when you have a covetous Guild Master with a past that's no longer staying hidden, a rather bored Dragonborn thief, a bunch of manipulative Daedric Princes, and a writer who hates bad guys always finishing last (ie dying)? This story right here. Not much of a summary, but I'll work on it! Really! I promise!
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes he wondered if he was cursed. _**Sign of the Serpent, old man. Blessing and a curse, though you're only feeling it now.**_

Sometimes he wondered if he was being punished by the Gods or Daedra for the things he had done over the years.

And sometimes he wondered if she had any idea of the dangerous hold she had over him. _She had to...didn't she? She wasn't an idiot, not like the majority of their colleagues...Or was she?_

No. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew Gwendolyn Maullaine was no fool.

But it had been weeks. Weeks since he dropped that first hint after throwing caution to the wind. Weeks from when he tried to see where he stood...and nothing. Perhaps she saw what everyone else saw from him- stressed and constantly irritable. Perhaps she didn't like subtle, being around it day in and out in the guild? Or was it something else? Was she married- but that's not something that stays quiet for long, especially in Riften. Maybe she preferred the company of women over men?

"Thanks for taking the time for talking to me, Gwendolyn. I know it's silly but..."

Laurel eyes dart from the ledger the man was trying to read for the past half hour over towards one of the beds that dotted the circumference of the cistern- he had forgotten that Rarnis had crossed paths with her when he was being held captive in the Thalmor Embassy. Perhaps something blossomed between the two?

"As I've told you before, Etienne, like I've told everyone else: listening is free, advice has a price. But I do know what you're going through, so I don't want you to think you're being a bother. You were tortured- getting over that will take time, more time than you might be willing to put towards healing."

"Does it ever get better?"

"That depends on you and if you want to get better. I can do all the listening, but in the end, everything depends on you." He watches as she pulls the blanket over the younger thief's frame. "Try to get some sleep."

If the Breton in the bed said anything in response, the man across the room certainly couldn't hear it, but knew the conversation was done when the woman got up from the chair and started moving towards the ladder leading out to the secret entrance.

"Maullaine."

Metallic orbs, framed by wisps of brown hair, look from the ladder, towards him, then back towards the ladder. She seems to sigh in resignation, then moves towards where he was standing, coming to a stop just before the table. "Guild Master Frey. Is there something I can help you with, Sir?" _Does the man not sleep?_

The man makes his way around the barrier and leans against it, facing her with a blank expression. "I was wondering something, perhaps you could enlighten me regarding it."

A dark eyebrow arches slightly at order barely veiled as a request, a glint of intrigue flickering across her eyes. _You don't normally lower yourself to talking to the rank and file members of the Guild, Frey- if your Second is to be believed. But I don't back down from a challenge, so I'll take the bait and run with it._ "Perhaps I could, Master Frey, if I actually knew what you were wondering. I'm many things, but being a mind reader isn't necessarily an art I've mastered yet."

"I get a list, you know, from Mallory and Vex of the jobs taken and completed every week. Do you know what I've noticed, Maullaine?" Mercer studies the woman's face, looking for any break of composure. "You've taken four or five jobs a day from the both of them- more if you can somehow get them within the same hold. You've been doing it for weeks. Now, I could understand a newcomer to the Guild doing that in order to prove themselves capable, but eventually they'll tire out. You've been here for months and still going. That means you're hurting for money, you're looking for or running from something or someone, or maybe you're trying to get that high back that gets harder to catch with the more jobs you do. Maybe it's something I haven't thought of yet. So, tell me, why take on all the work?"

Gwendolyn glances over her shoulder at the main entrance to the cistern, as if expecting the door to open at a moment's notice. "Not here," she tells him quietly. "I know you're already well acquainted with both doors to my home, Guild Master, so I'm sure you'll have no problem letting yourself in...say about thirty minutes?" She notices a muscle twitch, a smirk crossing the man's face. _So he is capable of something other than a sullen expression, I never would have thought it possible._ Before he can say anything though, the woman turns and heads up the ladder, exiting the cistern into the Riften cemetery.

A predatory grin breaks out across the man's face as he hears the trap door in the ceiling slam shut. _Challenge accepted, Maullaine. Just because we'll be on your own territory doesn't mean you'll be any more safer from me than if we spoke here...just less ears. One way or another, I'll get my answers- and my satisfaction._

 _ **You are such an idiot, Gwendolyn Maullaine. You can't expect to go into a battle- even of words- with the bloody Guild Master!**_

The woman in question huffs at her conscience as she removes her chest armor, dropping the buckle and pocket laden gear into an empty chest in her bedroom, then does the same with the leather pants. Sure, she had been told by most members of the guild that to challenge the moody Breton in any capacity- verbal or otherwise- was pretty much suicide. _In for a septim, in for a gold bar, I suppose. Besides, he challenged me first! I have never backed down from a challenge, even if it meant surviving another day._

 _ **Are you that eager to die now that both Alduin and Miraak have been dealt with and the Civil War is over?**_

 _The war isn't really over. Sure, Ulfric won, but peace will take time, and then there's the elves... I guess I'm just bored._ She reaches into her wardrobe and pulls out a pair of black linen pants. _Besides, would you have rather I joined up with the Companions in Whiterun instead?_

 _ **Why not? That set of twins that call Jorrvaskr home are good looking.**_

 _Whiterun's version of Brynjolf and Delvin. A boring and short chase plus a one time fur._ Gwen pulls the article of clothing on, still mentally debating with her conscience. _Besides, you have to admit Farkas is a bit...And do we really want to actually start performing in more...legal professions?_

 _ **Fine. Be lucky I didn't ask about considering the Jester.**_

 _Cicero is odd, but decent company. And he's full of the most amazing knowledge regarding torture. His complete and utter devotion to the Night Mother is admirable but..._

 _ **You could have married-**_

 _No._

 _ **But-**_

 _No!_

Completely tuning her conscience out, the thief makes her way down into Honeyside's basement, into a side room, and down a hidden hatch into yet another room. The only source of light are two torches, one on either side of the far wall "Now, are you ready to tell me why exactly you broke into my home?"

A moan is heard from the body chained tightly to the wall. Their head looks up, and as they strain to see into the darkness, say "I heard the newest member of the Thieves Guild bought it. I was hoping to convince them to help me."

"Last I heard it was against the rules to break into a home of a fellow Guild member, as your armor states you are. Or is it perhaps were?" she snarks out, throwing one of the boots from the table beside her in front of the unwilling guest.

"I was getting desperate," the person goes with a cough, followed by "My letters to you were going unanswered."

"Well, you certainly caught my attention now, and you most certainly got caught. Now talk. What do you want with me?"

"Justice."

A snort, then "You came to the wrong person for that, your best bet would be Whiterun and the Companions."

"It was one of the Companions who sent me here to you. There's a message in my bag for you as well."

"Hircine take both those boys," Gwen mumbles to herself as she glances at the bag in question, then goes "Alright, I'll deal with that later when I'm not pressed for time. Justice for what?"

Before the person in the cell could answer, a soft creak could be hear on the floors above them.

"Ah, seems my guest has arrived. I do hope you being forthcoming with the information continues when I return. If not, I might have to resort to more...questionable methods, to obtain my answers. Either that or bring in a professional- and believe me, I have plenty of both at my disposal." Without another word, the brunette turns and, after removing the letter her visitor mentioned from the bag, climbs up the ladder quickly before any more pleas for help could be heard on the main floor.


	2. Chapter 2

The graying male looks around after he shuts the front door to Maullaine's home, trying to see where the woman in question was. _Did she not make it home? Or did she leave?_

"Ah, Master Frey. Apologies for not being upstairs when you arrived. I was tending to some business downstairs."

"Mercer," he goes, his gaze landing on Gwendolyn coming up the stairs in the other room barefoot and clad only in a breast band and matching pants, a folded piece of parchment in her hand. Brows furrow as the man notices a patchwork pattern of scars that were normally hidden by her armor- some were from weapons, some looked like burns, and some he couldn't tell.

"Excuse me?"

Pulling his eyes upwards to meet hers, the man reiterates, "Mercer. My name."

"I know," she goes flippantly, making her way into the main room of the home. Her silver eyes dart over the paper, the words making her shake her head in amusement. _No. No. And no again, Vilkas._

"Use it."

"Seems disrespectful, Master Frey."

He lets out an exasperated sigh as the male watches her place the paper on the table, asking "Are we in the Cistern?"

"If we are then I most certainly got lost around Riften."

"Are either of us in our armor?"

Dark orbs pass over his body, the woman inwardly appreciating the fact that for a man in his what- mid 40s?, the Guild Master took very good care of himself. But in answer to his question- no, neither of them were, as it seems he took the time to change into a black tunic and brown pants. "No, Sir."

"Then Mercer's fine, Maullaine."

"Only if you use Gwendolyn," she fires back at him and her conscience facepalms. _**Foot in mouth, Maullaine. Don't bait the fuckin' Guild Master!**_

An eyebrow arches slightly at the request. "Not Gwen?"

The slightly smaller woman swallows, her mouth drying at the question. "Haven't found anyone worthy enough. I feel the shortening of a person's name shows that one holds a sort of...intimacy and trust with another," she breathes out, trying to regain some composure. "But I don't believe you're here to talk about _that_ , are you?"

Mercer folds his arms across his chest at the challenge and thinks _You have no idea of what you're dealing with Maullaine...Or do you?_ "No need to get all defensive... _Gwendolyn_. Don't trust me?"

"I would trust you as far as I could throw you with my own hands, Mercer, and my trust for you is only _slightly more_ than the rest of them and that's because you're m-the Guild Master. But, in the end, strip off all the titles, laurels and connections I have and I'm just a simple thief, and the greatest allegiance a thief holds is to themselves- not to another man, mer, God or Prince."

"No friends?"

"Can thieves even have friends? For me, you're an acquaintance if you're lucky, a tool to be used if you're not- and the distinctions between the two change just as fast as shadows changing due to how light hits objects. Not all that different from yourself, if what I see and hear is true?" Gwendolyn gestures to the two chairs on either side of a small table before the hearth. "Please, take a seat. Can I offer you anything to eat or drink? I might not be the Gourmet, but I do know I can at least cook better than Vekel."

"And what _exactly_ do you think you know about me, Maullaine?" The man growls out as he slowly lowers his body into the chair, the sound shifting over to a moan when Mercer finds it to be a bit more comfortable than originally thought.

She snorts at him as she takes a dusty dark bottle off a shelf with one hand, two glasses in the other. "I know you were listening when I was bringing Rarnis to bed from the Flagon earlier. Besides, you're not here to learn about what I may or may not know about you." The brunette moves back over to the table and sits in the free chair. "I believe you wanted an explanation regarding why I hassle Delvin and Vex for work."

"Amongst other things, yes. There are many things about you that has me curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Guild Master," the young woman quips at him as she pulls the cork from the bottle and tosses it over her shoulder somewhere. As she pours the dark red liquid into the glasses, she catches his smirk, with just a hint of teeth flashing through- there was something about it that seemed predatory and dark... _Oh dear_. She knew that look, but did that bode well for her? The thief wasn't exactly too sure.

"If I'm a cat, then what exactly is Brynjolf? He's just as nosy...though less subtle on it."

"What else wants to hump anything and everything that moves? He's a dog and I don't plan on becoming another conquest for him to boast about in the Flagon."

A chuckle escapes Mercer's mouth before he could swallow it down. "That explains his frustration with you. I take it one of the reasons you try to be as gone as often as you are?"

"Not the main one, but yes. More than once I've wanted to leave him bleeding out in the middle of the cistern, but..." She shrugs, picking up her glass with soft fingertips and, before taking a sip, goes "Something always stayed my hand- mainly the thought of either who would rise up to take his place or did I really want to kiss Vex's ass to be let back into the Guild."

"So if the persistent ginger isn't the reason, what is?"

"Bored."

"You're...bored."

"Yes. Let me put it to you this way- before I agreed to help your Second with his little job in the market, I had already defeated Alduin in Sovngarde, defeated Miraak- the First Dragonborn who wanted to enslave Tamriel- in Apocrypha, and fought on the front lines of Skyrim's Civil War. Dragons, Dragon Priests, and bloody battles- all in all, pretty fuckin' deadly. Deadly, but gods, it was _exciting_. I knew I was _alive_ , Mercer," she chuckles softly, a strange glint appearing in her eyes. "Having the fate of so many lives in these hands, there's no word to describe that kind of power."

"So what do I do then? Sure, I can use a little bit of magic, but not enough to make those blasted mages up in Winterhold consider training me. I have done some work for the Dark Brotherhood in the past- I mean, with hands as bloody as mine, it was a decent enough fit. Shadows knows that their current leader has been trying to get me to come back and become a more permanent member of their organization. As for the Companions, I do some side work from them when it calls for more...questionable actions, but they'd want me to change a bit too much before joining them- and I refuse to change who I am for anyone.

"With the Thieves Guild though... I don't know. I can come, go, take the jobs, be productive and make some decent coin out of it. I don't do it because I have to- Gods and Daedra know I could sit on my ass for the rest of my life and just lift a weapon when a Jarl calls their Thane into service- I do it because what else can I do? Stealing's really the only thing I can do unusually well. It's just the jobs have become monotonous- change the numbers here, steal this item here, plant this in so-and-so's house there. The thrill's gone- the thrill of the hunt, the thrill of the prospect of getting caught, of chasing and being chased. These objects I'm being sent after aren't doing it for me anymore, and hence, since I'm not being satisfied, not being challenged, I'm bored. Does that make sense?"

Mercer pauses mid-sip, looking at the thief sitting across from him. _She's still young, how could she understand?_ "I do know what you're talking about, all too well. I felt as you do then, I still feel like that now- the only thing that will satisfy you is making something that is extremely rare yours instead of letting someone else claim it- someone else who may or may not want, need and/or appreciate it as much as you do." Taking another sip of the wine, the man continues, choosing his words carefully. "There...might be something we have that you might enjoy. We originally sent Vex out to do the job, as she's our best infiltrator, but...things went wrong."

"Shame it didn't knock that bitch's ego down a few pegs... Tell me."

"Goldenglow Estate. It's a bee farm just outside of Riften, owned by a Altmer named Aringoth. It's critically important to one of our largest clients. However Aringoth has decided to suddenly take matters into his own hands and shut us out."

"I take it he needs to be taught a lesson." A nod is the only response she's given. "And _how_ would you like this lesson be taught?"

"Burn three of the hives and clear out the safe in the basement."

"That seems...almost too easy. What's the catch?"

Mercer snorts derisively. "The _catch_ is that you can't burn the place to the ground. The client wanting this job done would not be amused."

 _Well there went that for having some fun..._ A huff of reluctant acceptance escapes the younger thief, then she asks "And Aringoth?"

"Maven would prefer that the elf remain alive, but if he proves to be stubbornly defiant, kill him." The Breton sees Gwendolyn's mouth twitch and could tell she was eagerly hoping he would be exactly that.

"What else can you tell me regarding Goldenglow?"

"It brought in a mountain of gold for us- Brynjolf liked to call it our sweetest deal." The pair roll their eyes at the rather bad pun the Second made. "Then, out of the blue, Aringoth stopped sending us our cut. Needless to say, I was...rather angry about it. So we sent in Vex, and we learned that the elf hired mercenaries to watch the place instead of the Riften guards. He sent the city guard packing and fortified the entire island. From what I remember, Vex barely made it out alive."

"Vex isn't me," she mutters under her breath, then goes "I take it the mercenaries are fair game though?" Another nod. "Excellent. At least there'll be _some_ challenge then, if they're worth what they're probably being paid, and my blades will no longer be collecting dust anymore." The woman glances out the window behind the Guild Master and frowns, lost in thought. "If I am lucky and have everything I need, I can leave in no more than thirty minutes. I'd rather do this under the cover of darkness, might have a better chance of either less guards awake or actually paying attention. Guard duty is always boring, no matter who you are."

Darkening eyes watch as she heads towards her bedroom, stopping to pull her guild armor from a chest. He was unable to look away as possibly the rarest and most precious thing he wanted to call his stripped the linen clothes off and deftly put the leather gear on, not bothering to wear anything underneath it. _Gods, woman, the things you either knowingly or not do to me,_ Mercer groans out mentally as he feels a rather uncomfortable tightening below the belt. _And of course I'm not wearing armor to hide this- Sanguine must be laughing at my misfortune, the bastard._

 _What should I take with me on this little venture?_ Gwendolyn muses to herself as she picks up a bag, then heads down the flight of stairs to her basement, not even giving the Guild Master a glance as she goes. Grey eyes stare at the various racks of weapons of various sizes, brain immediately throwing the bulkier two handed weapons off the list. She considers the glimmering daedric one hander on the table, then shakes her head- as much as she would love to use the sword Ulfric gave her at the end of the Civil War, it was a rare thing to see in the Rift (it was also no secret that said blade was in the hand of the one known as Stormblade, and that persona she tried _oh so hard_ to keep separate from her thieving life). Sighing, the thief picks up the pair of stalhrim blades she had purchased from Glover the last time she was in Solstheim- sometimes she found it hard to believe that he and Delvin were brothers- and, after slipping the sword and dagger into their respected sheathes at her side, places a quiver of steel arrows and dwarven bow on her back. Into the bag she places one of her carrying pouches with lockpicks, three healing and magicka potions each, and a folded empty bag- who knew what other things she could get from the house...or the mercenaries dotting the property?

"Travelling light?" her Guild Master asks as she comes back up the stairs.

"Barest of minimums I dare run with. I'd travel with less but mercenaries- they're still alive because they are good at what they do. I just have to hope I'm better." Gwen starts moving towards the door facing the lake, then stops and looks at the man still sitting in the chair. "You're welcome to stay, I only to ask you lock the door behind you if you go...and not take anything too important if your fingers start getting itchy. Then again, not that I would keep anything of extreme monetary value within walking distance of the Flagon."

"Two questions before you go."

"I choose not to answer them if I find them stupid. Just don't waste them."

"How do I know what you deem...too important?"

A sly grin crosses the younger thief's face as she goes "Where's the fun if I tell you what _I_ consider important. You're the one who has been breaking in Honeyside every couple of days."

"And _how_ in the Void do you know that?"

"Because..." the brunette walks over to him slowly, and, leaning down towards his neck, inhales deeply. "Your soap has a rather...distinct scent to it, Guild Master, and it clings rather nicely to my pillows and blankets. The only reason I never said anything is it's helped me sleep on some nights. I just hope you don't start visiting other women's homes though like you do mine- I don't share nicely...or at all." Gwendolyn reaches out and, while tugging lightly on some of his hair, gives the man a smirk. "And that, Master Frey, was your two questions. Such a waste, I think." _Challenge accepted, Mercer Frey._ Before Mercer could get his brain and mouth to work together, the woman was out the door and into the dark Riften night.

 **Such a dominant, bloodthirsty female, Mercer Frey, as if you would accept anything less for a...** _ **potential partner**_ **, my Nightingale.**

 _I haven't been yours in over twenty five years, meddling daedric harpy. Why can't you just stay in the Evergloam and leave me be, Nocturnal?_

 **You swore yourself to serve me in this life and the next, Guild Master Frey, do not forget that. You have done well on your own since you helped yourself to my key, but you're not as young as you used to be.**

The Breton's mind goes back to the image of the younger thief standing naked in her bedroom and smiles darkly. _I'm still plenty young I think._ Then the smile morphs into a frown. _You'll not have her, Nocturnal._

 **If I was to claim Gwendolyn Maullaine as mine, Mercer Frey, you nor anyone else would be able to stop me, though I would have to share her with some of my other brethren... However, it seems you choose to forget you willingly swore the oath. I didn't force you into anything, nor did I with anyone else. So shall it be with her and anyone else who might catch my eye.**

There was a pause, and Mercer thought Nocturnal had finally left him be. Oh, he knew the Daedra would always be watching him through her shadows, but it had been years since she deemed him worthy of conversation. Then **Perhaps you should take a look in her basement. She doesn't know what she holds just yet, but I think you'd be pleased, considering how long you've been searching for this elusive thing.**

Now _that_ piqued the thief's interest. There were few things in this world that he truly coveted more than anything- the woman who's home he was still currently sitting in being one, the Eyes of the Falmer another. He had considered at one point relieving the new High King of the Jagged Crown, but he still hadn't figured where the bloody Bear of Markarth hid the damned thing in the Palace of the Kings. _Dare I ask what you think would have me poking around Maullaine's home?_

 **You're a thief. When did the rules stop you from doing what you wanted?** And that was that.

He stands up from the chair and makes his way downstairs, his gaze taking in the alchemy table in one corner, two bookcases with potion vials or ingredients on either side, followed by weapon racks and mannequins holding various pieces of meticulously cared for equipment.

 _Seems at least some of what Maullaine said wasn't a pile of horker shit,_ Mercer thinks as closer inspection of some of the armor reveals the familiar leather and chain armor of a Stormcloak soldier, next to it the armor of one of their officer's. Another mannequin holds the light armor of an Imperial foot soldier, and the ones after that a full set of a guard's gear from each of the other Holds, followed by some Forsworn gear and a rather strange piece of ebony armor. _And seems she's prepared to go anywhere and blend in at a moments notice. Impressive._

A huff escapes him as the thief keeps looking for what the eternal pain in his ass wanted him to find. A movement of shadow draws his gaze to a chest in a corner, away from everything else. Kneeling in front of it, rough fingers pry the top open. _Empty. Are you leading me on a wild chase, you sadistic bitch?_ No response, but a soft laugh echoes in his mind. With a snarl, Mercer grabs the chest and heaves it behind him, paying no attention to the crashing sound it makes. Then he sees it. _Oh._ Another laugh is heard, followed by a slight wind ruffling his hair like an amused parent. _Still doesn't change what I said. You're a sadistic bitch._

The Breton lifts the trap door open slowly, peering into the dark beneath him and catching a glimpse of light on the far side of the room. A clink of a chain hits his ear from below- _Curiouser and Curiouser. And what would you have need for this, Gwendolyn? What don't you want people to find?_ Down the ladder the thief goes, not sure what to expect. When he reaches the ground, a very real voice echoes around him, a voice he hasn't heard in person for many years.

"Back to interrogate me some more?"


	3. Chapter 3

A few pairs of eyes glance up as the occupants of the Flagon's bar area hear a door slam open on the other side of the room, followed by the sound of muffled swears and a blade being dragged along the stone walls.

"Where the _fuck_ is he!"

The patrons watch as Gwendolyn storms down the path and towards the door leading to the Cistern, only to be stopped when a hand grabs her arm.

"Slow down a minute, Lass. Who are you looking for and why are you so angry?"

"Don't you Lass me, Brynjolf. Where is Frey? I have words to give that bastard and they aren't all nice."

"Where he always is!"

Grey eyes look over to the blonde infiltrator and gives her a slight smirk. "My thanks Vex." Without another word, the clearly pissed off thief keeps moving onward, not giving anyone else another glance.

Everyone looks at Vex, who just shrugs. "What? There's a reason I don't spar with her, armed or otherwise. If anyone can legitimately hand someone Mercer's ass while in a rage, it's Maullaine."

 **~~~***~~~**

_I've spent the good part of 25 years looking for her, and I just happen to find her chained up in Maullaine's hidden room. I could have ended it there, taken her life, but I didn't._

Across the room, Mercer hears the door leading to the Cistern swing open, but he pays it no mind as his eyes stare intently at the ledger before him, trying to give the impression that he didn't want to be disturbed.

Unfortunately for him, it doesn't happen as the blade of a dagger gets slammed through the binding holding the pages together. "Where are they?"

" _Excuse me?"_

"You know damned well what I'm asking about, Guild Master... There were two rather important things in the basement rooms before you arrived, and now they are both missing." Gray eyes flash in anger as she asks again "Where are they?"

"You're talking of the Dunmer in Guild Armor you had chained to your wall."

"That elf broke into my home. I was in the process of finding out why before you paid your visit this evening."

Green eyes blink, then he starts laughing madly. "You have no idea who you held down there do you?"

"Who doesn't matter to me, you barmy bastard of a Breton. _Where_ on the other hand is much more important to me."

"That, Maullaine, was Karliah. She was the cause of my predecessor's murder. The Guild has been looking for her over twenty years now."

The clearly angry woman blinks, her mind processing the new information as brows furrow over storm clouds. "Then why..."

"Did she say anything to you as to why she broke into Honeyside?"

"An associate of mine in Whiterun sent her my way after she tried to get them to help her on a job. He and his brother tend to send people my way when the potential job is a bit...questionable and better off done by someone with less than honorable morals. This...Karliah, you said her name was?" When she gets a nod in response, Gwendolyn continues "had written to me before, but I had just shoved the letters into a drawer- the job seemed at that point a waste of my time. Something about wanting justice, but for what or who, I truly don't know."

"Anything taken?" A nod is his response. "What?"

"Some trinkets really, a few potions and ingredients...and the first thing I stole as a child- a weapon. I don't care about the dark elf, Master Frey. That weapon I will raze Skyrim for to find and get back."

For all the coldness the Breton put forward to the Guild, he did understand that the bond a thief had with the first thing they stole was a strong one. Even he still had the first coin purse he cut from an unsuspecting mark- sentimental reasons since the gold was long since spent. He gives her a nod, then pulls the blade out from the ledger. "We'll get both it and her back, Gwendolyn, I promise."

"Why in the name of Oblivion did you let her go, Mercer?" the brunette whispers, her anger finally leaving her.

"She's eluded the guild for many years, and as much as just killing her and dumping the corpse somewhere would have been satisfactory..."

"The hunt lacked in the acquisition of the prize."

"Exactly," he tells her, holding the dagger hilt out to the young woman. When she slowly takes the blade back, Mercer continues "Better?"

"I will be when that bitch is dealt with."

"I also heard word that Goldenglow was not only taken care of, but was done properly. Nice to know that this place isn't overrun with idiots."

Gwendolyn chuckles as she places a sack on the ruined ledger, the clinking of gold muffled by the canvas. "It was a nice change of pace, I will give you that, Master Frey. The gold is what the mercenaries had on them. There wasn't much in the safe. Just..." She holds out a single piece of parchment. "A Bill of Sale."

"Let me see that." Darkening eyes dart over the written words and a growl escapes the Guild Master's throat. "The stupid elf sold Goldenglow? Idiot- he has no idea the extent of Maven's fury when she's been cut out of a deal, but he'll learn soon enough. I take it you have no idea what the symbol up top means?"

"I'm afraid not. I spent time before I set the hives alight searching for any books or papers that might have made note of it, but there was nothing. I can check through the books I have in the various homes I have as well, but that might take more time than we have... I'm sure something will turn up eventually though. No one is ever _this_ thorough," she goes, fighting the yawn that was threatening to escape her. "But I need sleep, so if I'm no longer needed..."

"I'll see if I can turn anything up through my sources, however, you're not done tonight. Black-Briar wants to see you over at the Bee and Barb."

"Maven? Can't she wait 'til morning?"

"You're the one who wanted to handle Goldenglow under the cover of darkness, Maullaine," Mercer goes, his eyes narrowing. "It's not a social call. She wants to discuss business and asked for you specifically. Get going."

The Breton watches as a muscle twitches in the younger thief's face as she turns to move towards the ladder. Just as she clears the table, long fingers reach out and latch into his grayish-brown strands of hair and Gwendolyn whispers to him "You'll get yours, Mercer, and sooner than you think."

"Is that a threat, Gwendolyn?"

"Oh no, my dear Guild Master," she goes, leaning over towards his ear and inhales slowly. "It's a promise."

 _Wench_. Before the smaller thief could move, his calloused hand grabs at her wrist and presses her back against the table. "What's your game, Maullaine? You think I haven't noticed the difference? Going from barely acknowledging my presence except when necessary weeks ago to doing this?" Mercer growls quietly to her, pressing his erection into her thigh. "I've had to deal with this the minute you walked up your basement stairs barely dressed, woman, and this isn't the first one you've caused me. You get one chance to stop this from going any further- I'm giving you until you come back from whatever errand Maven has you running for her to make a decision. If you choose to not stop me, I will do everything in my power to stake my claim on you before someone else dares try to steal you from me."

 _As if you'd let anyone take what you wanted, you possessive bastard._ "Mercer," she whispers to him, gentler this time. Her free arm snakes around his waist, pulling him closer, the fingers slipping under the chest armor to lightly brush against the skin there. Gwen feels his body stiffen at the touch, eyes squeezing shut, fully expecting a blade from behind during the distraction. Another soft caress, followed by "Look at me."

 _Breathe Frey. You've incapacitated and killed much stronger than her. What's the worst she could do?_ _ **Plenty, because she can take you and break you and throw you away- that's a woman**_ , the man's conscience reminds him, then goes back to its quiet little corner to be ignored again. Slowly the male forces his eyes open, the hint of nervousness apparent in his pale green irises as they meet those of molten steel. And then, something snapped in him.

His head shoots forward, pressing his mouth against hers roughly. Battling with lips, teeth and tongue, the pair attempt to force the other to submit to them, though neither are surprised when it just doesn't happen.

"It's no game, how I feel," Gwendolyn murmurs into his ear as she plants hungry kisses down his jaw and throat, scrunching her nose as it's tickled by the coarse hairs dotting Mercer's face. "The only game is the chase, and that's if both enjoy it... I'm just too tired of running, of denying what I've wanted. I've waited long enough, Mercer."

The Breton brings his hands up, one tugging at the buckles that covered her chest piece to undo them, the other grasping her chin and forcing her to look at him. He goes to say something, only to hear the door leading to the Flagon open. Mercer's eyes narrow in anger, then sinks his teeth into the brunette's lower lip. "You have until you're done dealing with Maven's task to make a decision," he tells her, shifting to the side so as to not give the newcomer any ideas.

"Of course, Guild Master. I'm sure Maven has more important things to do that wait on a lowly thief so late at night- like sleep, for instance," she snarks aloud just before someone calls out to her.

"Lass! Good thing I caught you before you left. Have a minute?"

"I'm sure if Maullaine wasn't already _late_ for her meeting with Maven, Brynjolf, she would give you at least two."

Gray eyes narrow at the man next to her, then turns to face said man's Second. "What I think Master Frey meant to say is, I am to meet Maven yes, but if you're willing to walk me to the tavern, we can talk on the way?"

"If you think you need a guardian to get across the market at your age, Maullaine, then by all means, go right ahead."

"You're such a bastard."

Mercer smirks at her as he leans forward and whispers in her ear "You have no idea, Gwendolyn. And you'll have plenty of time to learn how much of one I am if you choose wisely."

"Bastard. If Black-Briar bitches that I'm late, I'm blaming you."

"Best get running then."

Gwendolyn shakes her head, then turns and moves next to Brynjolf. Linking her arm with his, she says "You're such a gentleman, offering to walk with me Bryn. At least someone in this cesspool has manners...Still won't get me into bed with you though."

"You wound me, Lass," the redhead tells her as the two make their way towards the Flagon to head above ground through the Ratways. "I did want to talk to you about a few things..."

 **You don't have to worry about her.**

 _I thought I didn't need to worry about Karliah either. I'm not going to lose another woman I want to another thief, especially to one such as Brynjolf. He's not good enough for her... I don't even know if I'm good enough for her..._

 **You need to learn to have a little more faith in your fellow thief, Guild Master Frey.**

 _Gwendolyn said it best- only person a thief can trust is themselves._

 **But who does a thief trust when they don't even have their skills to fall back on?** The Daedra simply points out to him, then says nothing more.


	4. Chapter 4 and A Little Note

"So color me surprised Lass when I heard Mercer sent you to see what you could find out about Goldenglow."

"Oh? And why's that? Just because the Guild's _supposed_ best infiltrator failed doesn't make the job impossible. Personally I think Vex's ego needed to be taken down a few notches with the screw up."

A calloused grip latches onto Gwendolyn's arm and pulls her to a stop just before the door leading to the outdoors. "That's not what I meant, Lass, and you know it."

"Oh, then please enlighten the lowly thief on what you meant, Brynjolf. For someone who is supposed to be the intermediary between the rest of us and the Guild Master, you've certainly done a shit job at least when it came to me. At least Master Frey tries-"

"That's just it, Lass! The last thief Mercer showed any interest in was...well, me, and that was before he took on the title. Obviously he sees something in you that the others lack if he thought you could handle Goldenglow being as new as you are."

Hematite orbs flash angrily in the torchlight at the unintended insult. "As 'new' as I am? And who's fault is that I wonder? You know why the Guild Master gave me the job? Because I told him flat out I was _bored_! The same jobs for Del and Vex day in and out- there was no more challenge, Brynjolf. And what better challenge could the snarky bastard downstairs give me but the one where the Guild's supposed best failed miserably at it!"

 _Seems she has a slight dislike for Vex's ego. Perhaps I should talk to her about that..._ "Oh Lass...I'm so sorry." Emeralds soften at her outburst- he understood the never ending itch that was boredom, as it was the bane of people who just couldn't sit still. "Why didn't you come to me and say anything?" He asks her as he opens the door and they step out into the damp Riften night.

"Come to _you_?" The brunette laughs coldly as she starts making her way towards the stairs closest to them. "I _tried_ you stupid idiot. If you're not in the market working your con, you're off seducing some unsuspecting- or a very willing- woman to let you have her for the night. And if you're not doing that, you're regalin' to Del, Dirge and everyone who wants or doesn't want to hear about your conquests of said women. So I gave up. _**You were supposed to be my mentor!**_ I looked forward to learning from one of the supposed best...instead I had to find my feet on my own, and then had to turn to the man with the permanent scowl in the Cistern when I couldn't go any further without guidance." She prods his chest with her index finger, a frown marring her face, then asks him "So why should I keep trying with someone who obviously doesn't care about a woman unless she's fuckin' him senseless?"

Before the ginger thief could respond, he finds himself being sent flying backwards into the stagnant canal waters when Gwendolyn places her hands on his shoulders and shoves him off the walkway. As he comes up sputtering- _Gods this smells awful, and I'll be tasting this for days!_ \- and glares at her through strands of soaked hair. "What the name of bloody Oblivion Lass!"

"Nothing more than you deserved, Brynjolf. You have no right to suddenly act all concerned when you get called out on your bullshit."

"You're going to pay for that Lass," he growls out darkly as he somehow manages to hoist himself out of the canal.

"Just like you promise to talk to me later when you're not busy doing important things, right? Face it, to me your words are as empty as the title you bear Guildwise in my eyes. When you start actually living up to your promises, then maybe I'll believe you, maybe even respect you again." She huffs in annoyance, then turns back towards the stairs as the younger woman goes "At least now I have _two_ people to blame for my being late if I choose to. I know the Guild Master is at least tolerated by Black-Briar, I wonder though what tidbits I could find out about you from her, or her daughter... It was Ingun I saw you fucking up against the Fishery's wall a few nights ago, yes? Wonder if Maven knows about that, hmm? I'm sure she'd _love_ to know that her only daughter was lowering herself to be a plaything for a thief who has probably fucked more than half of Skyrim by now."

The rather soaked Second watches as Gwendolyn makes her way towards the tavern for her meeting with the unofficial Jarl of Riften, barely noticing the water dripping off his armor. As angry as he was at what she did, Brynjolf really couldn't blame her in hindsight. As he was the one who brought the Lass into the Guild, it was his duty to make sure she settled in properly, to give her the skills to surpass him in time just as Mercer and Gallus...

 _Gallus. If he could see me now, I don't think the Imperial would be that happy with me._

"So the girl finally had enough of your shit, Bryn?"

"Normally when a woman gets mad at me I tend to get a slap to the face, Delvin, you know that," he goes, turning around and facing the other man who was leaning against the entrance into the Ratway. " _That_ was something else though."

"Hilarious is what it was. I actually think no one picked her sending you into the canal as a choice."

Brynjolf groans, wringing the dirty water out of his hair. "Why doesn't that surprise me that you'd start a betting pool on how the Lass would let me have it?"

"Some of us have to do something to lose the money we earn on things other than drinks and whores, brother. I think the closest was Mercer...except he said she would try to drown you in the sewer waters in the Flagon."

"He never participates in our fun and games- thinks them beneath him."

"He seems to have an interest in her- I mean, he did seem to think her capable of Goldenglow, and she did prove him right."

A red eyebrow raises slightly at the comment. "Professional interest or a personal one?"

The bald man's shoulders shrug slightly in the shadows. "Who's to say it's not both? Mercer is the same as you and I- a man who has needs."

"He's not good enough for her!"

"And you are?" Delvin shakes his head in the negative. "Face it, Bryn. None of us are really good enough for the women who call the Flagon home, especially in regards Gwendolyn Maullaine. If you knew what little I was able to find out about her, you'd wonder exactly _why_ someone like that was running around with our motley crew of ne'er-do-wells. All any of us can do is prove to them that we're worth the gamble."

"But Mercer? Really?"

"...at least he doesn't fuck everything that has tits. By Nocturnal, I've never even heard of the man paying a visit to Haelga- and everyone in Riften goes to her. And even if Gwendolyn didn't choose to be involved with Mercer, she could do worse than our dour Guild Master." The older man sighs, then goes "Look, if you're serious regarding Maullaine- even if it's simply just to fix your professional relationship with her- you're going to have to change, starting with actually teaching her what you know, learn what things she needs to work on, make her into the thief you _should_ have been. You can make the fucking time for her by not fucking period, including Tonilia. Actually... _Especially Tonilia_."

"You're askin' for a lot, Del."

"Then maybe you should just leave the Guild," Mallory retaliates, "if your priorities are so skewed that you'll ignore your responsibilities as Mercer's Second in favor of satisfying your dick." Before he says something that would possibly destroy the friendship the two shared, the annoyed thief turns and heads back down into the Ratway, most likely to get a drink from Vekel.

 _Am I just going to anger everyone tonight? I should just go dry off and see if..._ Brynjolf starts to think, only for the conversation he just had with the Guild's Sneak Trainer replay in his mind. He sighs, the sound echoing in the quiet around him. _Just dry off, I guess. Maybe see what some of the others might know about the Lass's skills so I have a better sense of what I'm dealing with._ Gazing at the steps one last time, the still wet rogue heads back to the Flagon to change, warm up, and drink the confusion away.

 **~(Insert a pretty line break here)~**

"So you're the one. Hmm. You don't look so impressive."

 _Can we kill the client? Please oh please?_ A dark eyebrow arches at the well-dressed woman relaxing in a chair on the second floor of the Bee and Barb. _**Don't kill the client, don't kill the client. You don't want to anger Mercer more than he already is with this mess.**_ "How about we skip the conversation, hmm? The more time we make small talk, the more time gets wasted."

"You're a firebrand, aren't you?" the Black-Briar matriarch asks, looking at Gwendolyn in a slightly different light. "It's about time that the Guild sent me someone with business sense. Then again, I do tend to believe Mercer knows what he's doing, and if he seems to think you're capable, I suppose I should give you the benefit of the doubt."

"You have no faith in the Guild?"

"Faith?" A snort of derision escapes the older woman. "I don't have faith in anyone. All I care about is cause and effect. Did the job get done and was it done correctly- there is no gray area."

Gwendolyn's head tilts slightly in understanding. "You won't have that problem with me. What would you have me do?"

"I hope not. This is an important job. I have a competitor called Honningbrew Meadery that I want put out of business. I also want to know how they managed to get that place up and running so quickly."

"How did someone like you become allied with the Thieves Guild? Surely with the connections you have, such ties could be a hindrance at some point."

"The Black-Briar family has always been allied with the Guild. Our connections with the Empire and within Skyrim make for a perfect fit. I dare say the Guild owes its survival as much to my family as it does to its own people," Maven goes, taking a drink from a bottle of her own product. "Perhaps even more so in this day and age."

 _Egotistical bitch._ "Who runs the show over at Honningbrew? I ask that way I know how to plan appropriately for what needs to be done."

"Some layabout called Sabjorn," the older woman bites out, the venom dripping over the words. "He's been a thorn in my side for some years now."

"Sabjorn seems more than just a little bit of friendly competition..."

A sigh is heard, followed by "Not a day goes by that I don't regret letting Sabjorn get as far as he did. In a few short years, he's taken that bile he calls mead to market and a chunk of my profits with it! I can't imagine where he found the gold to take it to market so quickly."

"Perhaps someone who has a grudge with you, someone with gold to just throw around..." _Anything to me would taste better than the swill you sell, Black-Briar. Probably tastes like the water in the canal, but since most people don't have a choice in the matter..._ "So get rid of him and he's no longer a threat."

"Exactly," Maven goes with an approving nod. "With Sabjorn in prison, his meadery will be forced to close. Then I swoop in and take over the place- therefore, no more competition."

"Why strike now though? Surely you could have stopped this sooner if he was that much of a threat, or later to see if he really can convince Skyrim his mead is the better product."

"The Goldenglow Estate job, while executed as planned, has undoubtedly interrupted the supply of honey I need to make my mead. Sabjorn could use this interruption to his advantage and collect a larger share of the market. I can't have that."

"Where do I begin when I reach Whiterun?"

"Head to the Bannered Mare and look for Mallus Maccius. He'll fill you in on all the details... One more time in the case I wasn't clear. You butcher this job and you'll be sorry."

Knowing a dismissal when she hears one, Gwendolyn gives the older woman a polite nod, then heads down the stairs and out the door of the Bee and Barb. As soon as she was outside in the safety of the night's dark shadows however, a scowl appears on what was up until then a passive face. _If it wasn't for the fact Maven Black-Briar is a necessary evil at this point in time, I'd show her exactly why Ulfric bequeathed me the name Stormblade. Despite her claims of being important, she'll never have the new High King's ear like I do...Which also reminds me I do need to pass by up there to see if there's been any movement by the Thalmor since their last skirmish three months ago. Perhaps after dealing with this whole thing with...what was the Dark Elf's name again?_

"No lollygaggin'," a passing guard says to her, then pauses as he sees exactly who he just chastised. "Oh, sorry Thane, didn't recognize you there. Should probably get inside, it's late."

"I have something to tend to for Maven Black-Briar, so I'm afraid sleep won't happen for a while. I thank you for your concern though."

"Of course Thane. Travel safely."

As Gwendolyn makes her way out the main gate to see if Sigaar was awake to drive her to Whiterun, she hopes that the next time she has to interact with the matriarch of the Black-Briar family that she at least gets enough sleep to hold back her snark. _Playing nice is too exhausting...  
_

* * *

Author's Note: I love Brynjolf. I do. However, I can't for some reason wrap my head around why, as Mercer's Second in Command so to speak, that he wasn't even remotely aware of what the Guild Master was doing. And being that this is the first time I've written anything remotely pre-Snow Veil Sanctum and Irkngthand with Mercer still alive, I'm blaming it on him thinking with the wrong head more often than not. Also, for all the teasing I do regarding Delvin's tunnel vision on the blonde haired infiltrator, he's probably one of the more smarter Guild Members- he was the only one who believed their bad luck was due to a curse. I only wish he got off his butt and did jobs...lazy bum.

I admit freely I'm a rather shit writer- I'm probably my worst critic. But the only way I can get better is to keep doing it and to let people read it too, so feel free to drop a comment, even an anonymous one, and let me know what you think. I'll take it all in the spirit in which it's given.


	5. Chapter 5

Climbing down the ladder back into the Cistern with only one perfectly working arm and half asleep, Gwendolyn realized hours later, was rather difficult, and anyone who argued to the contrary would have to change her rather stubborn mind from thinking otherwise. Somehow, though, she managed to make it to the bottom without any incident and attracting attention to herself.

Two different pairs of green eyes look up from the mess of papers on top of the table as the brunette shuffles over. A backpack gets placed down on the cold stone floor, the brown garbed woman retrieving two smaller bags from inside and placing them on top of the parchment pile- the heavy one in front of Brynjolf and the much lighter one in front of Mercer.

"Your bag," she yawns out while looking at the redhead "goes to Delvin. Some odd baubles I found that might pique his interest at Goldenglow and Honningbrew. I do hope that the idiot takes five minutes from his usual mooning over Vex to actually give a decent price for them." Moving her gaze to the other male, she goes with a smirk on her face "Yours gets brought to Maven, with the message that if _any_ of her underlings try touching what doesn't belong to them, they'll lose more than what Mallus lost tonight. Make sure she understands that I mean business, and that I won't cower if she thinks threats of the Dark Brotherhood will work."

Shadows flicker over the faces of both men, but wisely say nothing. Finally after a few moments (and more than one veiled glance at the nearly empty bag on the table), Brynjolf swallows and says "Word on the street is that poor Sabjorn has found himself in Whiterun's prison. How... _unfortunate_ for him."

"Yet very fortunate for Maven," Gwendolyn drawls out, just letting the both of them know what she really thinks of the business owner.

"She can be trying, I do understand that Lass, but she does pay well for the jobs given to us, so we just take her a day at a time. But Maven sent word that you discovered something else while you were out there? Something you thought was important to the Guild?"

The woman pulls some folded parchment out of a pocket she could easily access and hands it over to Mercer "The same symbol from Goldenglow was involved. It's..."

"Beyond coincidence," the Second finishes for her, looking at the paper in the Guild Master's grip. First Aringoth, now Sabjorn." Emerald eyes move from the paper, over to Gwendolyn, then up at Mercer. "Someone's trying to take us down by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild. 'To ensure an enemy's defeat...'"

"'...you must first undermine his allies...' One of the first lessons new recruits got taught while Gallus was alive."A pensive expression crosses Mercer's face as his mind brings forth an old, unbidden memory. "I did hear back from my contacts regarding the information you recovered from Goldenglow Estate, Maullaine, but no one can identify the symbol. However, now that we know that you've also found it at Honningbrew, I will agree with Brynjolf with his assessment that our adversary is attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. Very clever of them..." the older man goes, putting the promissory note down on the table. "And I'm sure we're all in agreement on who it is, but we can't just make assumptions without proof."

A dark eyebrow raises over half open eyes in glazed surprise. "You admire...them?"

"They're well funded and they've been able to avoid detection for years. I'm impressed it was able to reach this point." A calloused finger taps the paper emphatically as the Guild Master continues, "Just don't mistake my admiration for complacency; he, she or they will pay dearly for all of this... _all of this_ , Maullaine."

"And how exactly do we make them pay, Guild Master?"

A smirk crosses the Breton's face as he pulls out the papers from Goldenglow and points something out to her. "Because, even after all of their posturing and planning, they've made a mistake. The parchment from Aringoth's safe mentions a "Gajul-Lei." What my sources were able to uncover is that name is an alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei, a real slimy bastard. He is our inside man at the East Empire Company in Solitude. I'm betting he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow Estate and that he can finger our buyer. When Gulum-Ei was getting us merchandise from the East Empire Company, we were making a hefty profit. It was so lucrative, I was considering moving the Guild to Solitude to save us time."

"I'm sure either there or Windhelm would have certainly been an ideal place to move to if the gains were right," the woman goes thoughtfully, then adds "If the proper people were known and convinced to allow it... What changed?"

"Gulum-Ei started to get greedy and cut us out of the deal. Almost can't say I blame the scaly bastard. It started out innocent enough; he kept claiming the shipments were light because of Imperial interference. Then, maybe a few years ago, it all stopped. He didn't even bother to contact us anymore."

"Where do I begin?" Gwendolyn asks him with a soft sigh as she pinches the bridge of her nose. _Will I not be allowed some sleep tonight?_

The two men exchange glances, then the Nord goes "Mercer and I discussed this and we decided that if this has been so long in the planning, we can wait another day or two before getting the information out of Gulum-Ei. You're about to fall flat on your feet, Lass. Go home and sleep, or even better, grab one of the beds around the cistern. You're no used to the Guild if you look like this."

"I need to find Niruin first...I was in such a...rush to get back." Her right arm gestures to her left, which, under closer inspection, was a bit bent out of shape and the armor was darkened with the color of blood and burn marks. "It's amazing what can make someone block out pain," she muses with a dry chuckle.

"What _exactly_ happened, Maullaine?"

"Take your pick, Master Frey. Skeevers, insane mage with a fire fetish living under the meadery, Mallus and not taking no for an answer- they all played a part in the sorry state that's my arm. I could have went to Danica in Whiterun but my priorities were not on that at the time."

While Mercer went digging around in a drawer for a few things to tend to the youngest thief's injuries, Brynjolf makes his way around the desk and starts slowly undoing the buckles on Gwendolyn's chest armor. "I know the information was important, Lass, but your health is more important. You need to be a bit more careful."

"Never did say I was a sane thief, Brynjolf, only a good one," she says to him, trying to swat his fingers away and failing. "And I see you no longer smell like the magical waters of the canal. In fact," a slow sniff gave her the answer "it seems like you borrowed Frey's soap."

The redhead shrugs as he carefully peels the leather piece off her, trying to minimize the amount of pain Gwendolyn would feel. "It was either that or borrow Vex's," Brynjolf goes, carefully moving her over to a chair and telling her to sit down.

"Gods no. That's quite alright, smelling that on one person is enough. I have no idea what Delvin likes about that scent, but hey, to each his own, I suppose."

"Unfortunately for you, Maullaine, we sent Niruin on a job while you were out dealing with Goldenglow, so I'm afraid you're stuck with our rather subpar healing abilities...and by our I mean mine, because the Nord here is useless and though I'm a Breton, I'm barely above that when it comes to any type of magic."

"Well if I lose the use of my arm, I know who to blame then," she goes, trying to laugh as the two start carefully plucking the charred pieces of now dark leather from the burn's broken blisters and the bite mark from a lucky skeever that the woman said got her by surprise.

"I'll leave the resetting of your shoulder to Brynjolf- he'll have a better chance of getting the right amount of traction to get it. While he's doing that, I'm going to have a few words with Maven. When I come back, Brynjolf, do have a problem heading to Whiterun to...apply the right pressure to make Maccius understand what happens when someone touches something that belongs to the Guild?"

"Of course. And if he doesn't listen?"

Before Mercer could respond, Gwendolyn taps the ginger on the arm. "Tell me if he doesn't. I have... a few favors I can pull in from someone I help from time to time. He's... rather persuasive." When the two males blink at her, whether in confusion or shock the woman couldn't tell, she just says "What? Mallory's the only one that's allowed to have questionable associates outside the Guild?"

A graying head shakes in amusement. "You never cease to amaze, Maullaine." He picks up a rag and pours some rather nasty smelling liquid onto it, then looks up at her. "This'll sting. You need a hand to hold and be coddled, wench? Or perhaps something to cry into?"

"No, but if I need to release the agony, I'll just kick my foot into your crotch, hmm? That way you'll be doin' the crying and cursing for me, Guild Master. I am very sure you can show me how it's properly done, yes?"

Without warning, the Breton slaps the cloth down on the festering injuries causing a slight whimper to escape the young woman's throat. "What was that Maullaine? I don't think I heard what you said over this pitiful sound I heard," he taunts, watching as pale eyes narrow in anger.

"Bryn?"

"Yes Lass?"

"Pop my shoulder in now please."

Dark forest irises move from pissed thief to gloating Guild Master and back again. "Lass, I don't think..."

"I didn't tell you to _think_. I told you to _do_. Now please."

The Nord thief slowly moves Gwendolyn's arm into the proper position, one hand grabbing around her elbow, the other lacing its fingers with hers. "Gonna take it slow Lass, so if you're in any discomfort, just squeeze, alright?" When the brunette just tilts her head in agreement, Brynjolf starts slowly pulling at her arm, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her expression is rather passive, except for the promise of hurt swirling in her eyes as she locks gazes with their Guild Master.

When the three hear the sound of the shoulder popping back into position, Gwendolyn gives the Second a slight smile, then steels her face as she turns back towards Mercer. "Master Frey, do you remember when I said you were going to get yours, and sooner than you thought, as well as what I told you what I was doing prior to my helping Brynjolf here?"

"I might be older than you are, Maullaine, but I'm not deaf, nor am I senile."

"Good, then this shouldn't be a surprise for you," the woman goes with a wicked smile, then inhales " _ **Fus...RO!**_ " She took a twisted pleasure as his face morphs from its trademark sneer to one of utter surprise as he's sent flying backwards onto the stone walkway and into the water in the center of the cistern.

Mercer looks up from where he landed, a rather ungainly pile of drenched limbs and a pounding headache and watches as she gives him a smirk that would rival his own. He blinks slowly, a variety of expressions flickering across his face- anger being the first, followed by surprise, then embarrassment, followed by resignation...and was that a glint of respect hidden in there somewhere? "You're-" he coughs up some of the water swallowed upon impact, "you're just full of surprises, aren't you Maullaine?"

"Hardly, Guild Master. I remember I told you that before I came back to Riften for good I killed dragons. It's not my fault you forgot just _who_ could do that," Gwendolyn chirps from where she stood by the table. "And you can't say I embarrassed you in front of the whole Guild, because other than Bryn and I, no one else knows."

"Two people too many, wench."

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I do believe you both promised me some muchly needed sleep, so I am going to go do that, after a drink or six. Master Frey, not sure if you're still going to want that conversation, but you know where to find me if you do. Bryn, I'll meet with you tomorrow to try and figure out how to deal with this... Gulum-Ei character." With that, the young woman picks up her rather abused chest piece and takes the long way back up to the surface- her shoulder might be back in its' socket, but she wasn't going to strain it just yet, and she had to finish the other injuries at home due to her short fuse... That and she needed to see if Tonilia had a replacement available for her to use until the current one could be repaired.

Brynjolf walks over to where Mercer was and gives him a hand out of the water. "If I ever end up in a situation again where the Lass can get mad at me, make sure I'm nowhere near a ledge or near water... in fact, let's just not anger her, yeah?"

"Understatement of the age, Brynjolf." The older man sighs, combing fingers through his hair to get it back into some semblance of order. "Maullaine wasn't wrong- she did mention it to me, but with everything regarding Goldenglow then Honningbrew, and then finding out Karliah's back in Skyrim after vanishing over twenty years ago... It just got forgotten."

"Looks like we both have some making up to do with her," the redhead male chuckles softly. "Since she was the first recruit that actually stayed," here he looks at the Breton with amusement, "I forgot what my duties were to her, the ones that took priority over everything else. All I can do though is hope the Lass can let me prove I am capable of doing what I should have been doing all along."

 **Would it be so bad to have a spare pair of eyes on her?**

Mercer inwardly huffs at the intrusion. _And what do you want now, harpy? I have known you long enough that you don't do anything without reason._

 **You and I both know what's coming, Mercer Frey. Do you seriously want Gwendolyn Maullaine caught on the field of battle between you and the woman you wronged?**

 _No. I don't want Karliah to take yet another thing from me._

 **Then you know what you have to do to.**

 _You still haven't told me what you get out of this._

 **What I get out of it depends on what Hermaeus Mora decides to happen. I'm just… nudging things into a slightly more favorable outcome for most of those involved.** The man gets the feeling of his damp hair being ruffled, and the Daedra continues, **I'm not out to get you, Mercer. Everything you've done was not of my doing, and even after stealing my Skeleton Key, you've still inadvertently protected it. I'm just telling you to protect her as much as you've protected yourself for all these years.**

A sigh, then the Guild Master turns his attentions back to his Second. "I'm going to go bathe and change, then I'm going to go deal with Maven. After that, if I haven't landed in a holding cell in Mistveil Keep, I plan on trying to smooth things over with Maullaine. What I'd like for you to do is to still handle dealing with Maccius, but I want to speak with you when she goes to figure out what that Argonian bastard knows."

"Of course. I'll head to Whiterun after she leaves- the Lass wanted me to figure out how to deal with Gulum-Ei. As much as I'd like to wring his neck for getting involved in something like this, he's too much of an asset to kill off...and I'll have to stress it with her. She seems in need of a good fight to get rid of this pent up anger, because if the Lass doesn't, someone's going to end up dead."

* * *

A/N: Oh Mercer, you done fucked up now.

I always felt that, when it came to Nocturnal and the Thieves Guild, she could manipulated the situation a lot better than what Skyrim had happen. Then again, I'd like to think that Mercer, despite his betrayals and letting his greed rule him, still ended up guarding the Twilight Sepulcher after getting wrecked in Irkngthand until Nocturnal deems him ready to move onto the Evergloam. But I guess maybe he joined Bellamont in the Void? I'm not sure, but there has to be a place for traitors and the like in the afterlife for Elder Scrolls.


	6. Chapter 6

Well, here we are, another day, another chapter, and we finally earn that M rating. If sex isn't your thing, feel free to _completely_ skip this chapter, but if you've got no problems with the smut stuff, feel free to critique it- it's really not my strongest suit.

* * *

For the first time in the months that followed after Gwendolyn Maullaine purchased Honeyside, Mercer Frey stood in front of the door, unsure of what to do. He could just pick the lock like every other time, almost all of them when she wasn't home and the one time she was...the one time that changed everything. Yet, as appealing as sticking to the usual was, the Breton truly didn't want to end up thrown against or into something if she was still angry. The simple act of knocking though...the mere thought of doing that left a bad taste in his mouth. He inwardly sighs, then raps once, twice and then a third time, the sounds echoing down the dark alleys of Plankside.

From within he hears a lock being undone, then the door slowly opening. Confused silver orbs blink as they land on him. "Guild Master. You know how to knock, I see... and you've dried off. Dare I hope you cleaned up before delivering my gift to Maven?"

"Of course I did- Shadows forbid I let anyone know one of my guild members got the drop on me. As for knocking, it is something I am quite capable of doing if I feel the situation calls for it, Maullaine. Considering how we parted ways earlier in the evening..." A sigh, then "I know it's late, and you'd rather be sleeping, but..." he gestures with a bare hand towards the lit room behind her, "may I come in?" The older man was certain that she would have slammed the door in his face, but Gwendolyn just stepped back and allowed him entrance without a word.

The door quietly shuts, the sound of the lock being redone- not that it would do anything to keep a thief worth his two septims out, but for most it was a decent hindrance- then "Come to verbally abuse me some more, Master Frey? Surely you could have waited until morning to do that, when you could have had more of an audience at the Flagon."

"That's not what I came for, Gwendolyn."

"Oh really? Then what?" The young woman whirls around, her unbound mahogany hair flying about her head as she moves. "What could be so important that you had to come, Mercer? It's not like I've got a second betrayer chained up in my basement- I haven't been home enough the past few days to do much of anything! Vaermina only knows when the last time I slept was."

He moves back towards the way he came, nearly pinning her up against the door. "I came, because you _invited_ me. Or do you forget that little detail? Seeing how you came back from Maven's errand, I was livid. And then the thought hit me of what could have happened if you hadn't overpowered Karliah, if she had taken yet another thing from me." Before he could say more, the fingers of Gwendolyn's right hand press down over his mouth.

"Mercer, do me a favor? Shut up and let me think a moment." Green eyes narrow as her index finger taps his scruff lined lips thoughtfully. Her head tilts, as if listening to something only she could hear, then the younger thief goes "To the Void with all this." The hand over his mouth moves to the back of the man's head and latches her mouth onto his.

There was a moment of brief confusion, but the thief came back quickly to himself, grabbing Gwendolyn's ass with both hands and pressing her up against the closed door. "I do hope your Housecarl won't be showing up any time soon," he growls out against her lips as he brings one of his hands up to slide into the loose locks of her hair and gives it a sharp tug. "Then again, I don't think I care at this point."

"A story for later, but needless to say, you won't have to worry about Iona...at all."

"Bloodthirsty minx." His fingers start exploring her upper body in greater detail, brushing over and under the linen of the black shirt she wore. Eventually he manages to bring one of her legs, then the other, around his waist, and carries the woman in his arms over to the table, impatiently slamming her down on top of it. Grabbing onto the dark material of her tunic, he lets out a growl of frustration then rips the material somewhat down the middle.

As Mercer grabs onto her breasts with dry, calloused fingers, Gwendolyn shrugs the now destroyed shirt off her shoulders and groans out "And yet, I don't hear you complaining about that." Whatever else she was going to say gets cut off by a whimper as teeth latch onto a nipple, the woman curving her body up against him, the buckles on his armor digging hint her bare skin.

"And you never will," he tells her point blank as he moves from one breast to the other, nipping and sucking on the hardened nubs of flesh. His fingers take a hold of the waistband of her pants as darkening green orbs meet swirling silvers. Before he can say anything, however, her thin hands press down onto the table, giving the woman enough leverage to raise her hips from the tabletop and allowing him to remove the dark material covering long legs. "Do you _not_ believe in wearing anything under your pants, Maullaine?" Mercer groans out as his gaze falls in between raised thighs, her sex glistening with want. Slow fingers move forward and gently brush across the smooth skin, as if the man didn't believe what his eyes were telling him.

"I only wear them if the situation deems them necessary," Gwendolyn goes, smirking at him as she places her bare feet on the top rail of the two chairs on either side of him. Using one hand to keep her body propped up, the woman uses the other to gesture towards the Breton and adds cheekily "I think you are wearing a bit too much, and it's your Guild Master Armor on top of it. Have I been naughty, _Guild Master_?"

 _Very, very naughty_. An eyebrow twitches in response, but the older man doesn't say anything, just reluctantly takes the still exploring hand and starts pulling at the various closures that decorated the chest piece. As each buckle comes undone, he could feel her gaze on him watching intently, then when he drops the black leather armor to land under the table, eyes catch her long fingers drifting across scarred skin. "Oh no you don't," Mercer goes to her when Gwendolyn stopped her teasing ministrations. "Keep going wench." The black shirt in his hands gets pulled up and over his head, then he drops it to the floor, forgotten.

Though the man before her had been the Guild Master for the thieves for a good while, Mercer didn't always stand behind the table in the cistern and the scars that dotted the toned arms and torso proved that. Each pale mark told a story, but her eyes narrow as they fall upon one dangerously close to his heart. A finger reaches up and drags along the same spot on her chest, an unasked question swirling in mercurial depths. When the man doesn't respond, she had her answer and the woman swore that if she ever came across Karliah again, the Dunmer would regret that and a whole lot more.

His dark gaze burning into her skin, Gwendolyn starts moving her hand again, the dancing digits drifting closer between her legs. Mercer's breath hitches as her fingers slip in between the wet folds, never looking away from her as he quickly removes his boots then tugs at the belts that held the leather pants around his waist. A lone finger slides into the arousal slicked entrance, followed by a second- the pair moving in such a way that causes a rather wanton moan to eventually escape her followed by a breathless " _Mercer..._ "

She feels him before she hears anything, a hand removing hers then a slow, rough tongue and thicker fingers taking their place, then the sound of leather slamming against the door. Her eyes flicker open- _when had they shut?_ \- and land on the man in question kneeling on the wooden floor, his mouth devouring the dripping juices skilled fingers coaxed forth. Gwendolyn tries to get her mind and mouth working together to say something, but all that comes out are incoherent words and sounds. Frustration hits her, and the woman finally gets her point across when she slides her own fingers into Mercer's hair and, forcing her own hips up and along the torturing digits, keeps him from moving back. In her own lust addled brain, the female thief just knew he was smirking against her thigh in victory without having to look down at him. _Smug bastard. That's it._

One minute the Breton is caressing the throbbing bundle of nerves, relishing the noises coming from the woman in front of him, the next he finds himself falling backwards and landing prone on the brown and gold rug before the roaring fireplace, Gwendolyn pinning him to the floor. Before he could say anything, her long fingers cover his mouth as she smirks down at him. "You're taking too long, and I'm rather impatient thief when it comes to what I want. It's my turn now."

The brunette leans forward, the long hair falling over her shoulder as she plants a trail of kisses down his scruff laden jawline, her tongue dragging over the skin that hid a pulsing jugular. Gwendolyn feels a hand slipping into her tresses as she continues downward, nibbling over the older man's marred skin and following the downy hairs over wiry muscles formed from years of climbing and archery. She moves one of her knees to nudge his legs apart as she sits back on her calves, long fingers gently wrapping around the twitching erection and giving it a slight tug. His hips surge upward as a low growl reverberates from Mercer's chest, wordlessly begging her to continue.

"The great Mercer Frey, the unflappable Guild Master, the dominant leader of Skyrim's thieves, made into a whimpering mess by a simple woman," Gwendolyn purrs down at the writhing male, pressing his hips back onto the rug with both hands. "And how should I take advantage of this situation? Should I take it in hand, perhaps quite literally?" The digits that once were against his left hip move to lightly dance across the straining arousal, a smirk crossing her face as his ragged breathing ceases for a moment. "Tell me what you want...and _maybe_ I'll be nice enough to give it to you. Unless you'd rather I leave you like this?"

"Nothing...nothing simple about you, Gwendolyn Maullaine," the man on the floor moans out, grabbing onto the rug beneath him. He looks at his tormentor, gazing into eyes the color of raging storm clouds as his mind reels with possible answers, though he knew only one mattered now. "I want...no, _I_ _need_..."

"Yes?"

"The Void take you woman, just _touch me anywhere_ damn it!"

A brown eyebrow twitches in amusement at the plead veiled as an order- once a Guild Master, always a Guild Master, the woman figured as she has her fingers ghost over the pale scars that decorated Mercer's skin, feeling the muscles tense the lower the hands traveled. She watches his face as one of her hands follows the curve of his hip and pressing down to keep him from bucking off the floor again. Gwendolyn frowns as she takes note of his eyes once again screwed shut- clearly he had some issues that seriously needed to be worked out. Huffing in annoyance, her free hand shoots up and gives one of his nipples a sharp twist, causing him to inhale quickly and look down at her. "Eyes front, Guild Master," she quips at him, throwing the same phrase the man underneath her liked to use with inattentive thieves in the Cistern.

Any retort that was about to come out of Mercer's mouth gets cut off by a sharp intake of air as a tongue gets dragged at a snail's pace along the underside of his cock, then the heat of her mouth as it engulfs the entire length of him. As she had on the table, he uses his right arm to support his upper body, the left reaching out and snaking twitching fingers into waves of brown hair and cupping the back of her head. "Shadows Gwen- _ah_!" A groan ends any coherent thought as sharp ivories graze over the sensitive skin. He feels her pause over him, then barely hears over the crackling flames "Say that again."

"What?"

Gwendolyn snorts softly as she looks up at him and teases "Must be getting deaf in your old age, Guild Master, either that or not enough blood is flowing to your brain."

"And who's fault is that, wench?" he points out, tugging the locks wrapped around his fingers hard up towards his face. As the woman moves back up his body to lessen the tight pull on her scalp, Mercer goes "Now Maullaine, what did you say?"

"Mercer..." She moans as he gives another quick yank and manages to go "I wanted to hear you say that again."

"Say what exactly again?"

"You know _damned well_ what."

He smirks victoriously as his free hand wraps around the woman's waist and pulls her flush to him. "Tell me what you want, Gwendolyn, and maybe I'll be nice enough to give it to you," Mercer, knowing exactly what she wanted, brings his lips to her ear and parrots her exact words back to her.

"You shortened my name."

Another smirk. "I did."

"Even after I said I haven't found someone worthy enough."

"I did." A flash of teeth, then, "I'm still waiting for you to tell me what you want."

"I want you to say it again."

Mercer uses his hold on her to roll them both over, pinning Gwendolyn with his torso to the wood floor. He gives the younger woman no warning as he pushes his arousal fully into her. Barely supporting his weight with his forearms, the man drags his tongue along the outer edge of her ear and groans out " _Gwen_... gods woman, you're so _tight_ When was-?"

Her hips wildly buck up into his, hands grabbing onto Mercer's sides to try and bring him closer still. "Awhile," the brunette brushes the question away like it was an annoying fly, but turns to look at him and continues "but not from anyone's lack of trying- they most certainly did, and a good amount even learned their lesson eventually, like Maccius for instance." Gwendolyn reaches up and winds her long fingers through his hair, whispering "Now _move_ , damn you."

"Your wish is my command." Without another word, Mercer starts thrusting into her, each push reminding her just who was in charge at that particular point- not that the brunette was complaining, by the gods any negative thoughts she had went out the window and drowned somewhere in the middle of Lake Honrich at this point. Fingers that had no problem picking pockets and tackling the most difficult of locks with ease showed just how nimble they really were as they move down flushed skin, tracing the patchwork map showing the numerous brushes with death. With each touch his brain cataloged the shape of each scar, recording to memory how it felt, wondering where it happened and who dared marred what was his.

As his fingers traveled down her trembling torso, the older thief's hips presses down against hers as he forcefully slams into her, each movement deeper and rougher than the previous. Realizing that she still had her hands around his head, Gwendolyn pulls Mercer's face down to hers and brings him into a hungry kiss, her teeth latching hard onto his lower lip. Dark green eyes flash as the taste of copper hits his tongue, causing the man to let out a guttural growl- _Is that how you want it, woman?_ \- and, when he pulls out of her, flips the woman onto her hands and knees. As the thief started to pound into her once more, nearly his full weight down on her back, Mercer notices a shift in the younger woman's physical and verbal responses- they become hungrier, more animalistic, and her reactions nearly send him over the edge. "Does my dragon approve?" he grunts into the side of her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin before him leaving bruises and bites in his wake.

"Yours..." Gwendolyn moans in response, arching back to meet his quickening thrusts. "Don't...don't stop!" His fingers press her up against him, keeping her from being able to pull away as his thumb brushes agonizingly slow against her swollen clit once, then a second time. On the third pass over she screams out loud, a strange combination of his name and half formed words and sounds, her walls clenching around his cock and slowly dragging him over the edge with her, refusing to leave him behind.

The times Mercer decided that he wanted to be with a woman- not that he'd go to Haelga for those encounters, choosing to go to the other side of the province for those needs- he usually...alright, always... avoided finishing inside her, just as he never allowed women to step foot inside of Riftweald. But the tighter she got, the closer he got, the more the urge to release inside Gwendolyn grew. He didn't understand, but the primal instinct screaming inside him demanded it, drowning out the rather quiet protests of his conscience.

Not caring if he bruised the younger woman's skin, his rough hands grab at her hips and pull her as close as possible, the man's own teeth sinking into and breaking the skin where her neck and collarbone meet as he fills her with his seed. _Mine. Regardless of what happens in the future, even if this is just for one night, I was able to call you mine._

* * *

So, a thing. I always felt that if you weren't forced into killing Mercer in Irkngthand and was available for marriage, he would have been a covetous bastard would would have done anything to claim what was his in the most spectacular of ways. Who is to say he wouldn't be the same with a woman? Then again, I don't think I did him or the situation justice... But how long will the happiness last? Keep reading to find out.


	7. Chapter 7

As the pair return to their logical selves, their more baser instincts sated for the time being, the Breton carefully pulls himself out and off of her, then picks Gwendolyn up bridal style and begins to carry her towards where the bed was.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to stay for awhile?" the brunette goes to him as he pulls the snow bear pelt down, then places her down on top of the straw tick mattress.

"I normally don't."

"And I normally don't ask the men who've just fucked me like I was a bitch in heat to join me in bed- I always throw them out afterwards. I'm not kicking you out, if that's what you're wondering...so there is a first time for everything, I suppose," she points out, pulling the blanket up over her naked form.

 _First time for everything indeed._ He moves to the other side of the bed and curls up next to her under the fur, then pulls Gwendolyn's body up against his and plants a kiss on her shoulder. "I suppose you may be right," Mercer murmurs against the pale skin as he snakes an arm around her torso, frowning slightly as he feels the younger thief stiffen in his hold. "I'm not going to hurt you, Gwen."

" _Yet_ , Mercer. Not going to hurt me yet, and I know the same thoughts in reverse went through your head at least once since you got here. Who knows what will be an hour from now, tomorrow, next week, next month..." She slowly maneuvers herself so that she was now facing him. "How does something like...this...if it continues...work between two people who just don't know how to trust enough to let another person close?"

The man sighs softly, the exhaled air cool against her flushed skin. After a few moments, he goes "Do you remember, after you returned from dealing with Goldenglow, when I told you if things went further I was going to do all I had to in order to claim you before someone else could?"

"Of course, was probably the strangest declaration of intent I've ever received. Personally I think had your Second not walked in when he did, I would have ended up bent over your desk."

"And who are you to say that you still won't?" Mercer taps the tip of her nose causing gray orbs to cross slightly. "You of all people know that thieves by nature are a covetous bunch. Did you seriously think that I was just going to let you go after one night?" His fingertips trace the outline of Gwendolyn's jaw as her cheeks darken in embarrassment.

"The thought did cross my mind once or twice," she goes, leaning into the touch slightly. Her own fingers reach up and touch where his teeth manhandled her neck, causing her to wince. "Mercer, I'm not going to be able to cover this with my armor come morning."

The digits that were dancing across her face slowly move downwards, all save the index finger curling inwards towards his palm. The calloused skin gently brushes the sensitive skin as the man asks her "What makes you think I _want_ you to cover this?" He suddenly presses inwards, causing the woman to gasp and arch up against him. "I want them all to know that you're taken."

"And how do I make sure that others keep their hands off of you?" When the man doesn't respond, Gwendolyn continues quietly "You might not be like the other men of Riften who pay regular visits to Haelga, Mercer, but you are a man and you do have needs, just as I as a woman have needs as well. But if you expect me to keep my pants on and not hop into bed with anyone who offers... I expect the same from you. Thief or not, this-" she gestures between the two of them "goes both ways."

"And what makes you think that I'm sleeping with anyone?"

A thin finger reaches up and just taps his nose. "Dragonborn. You seem to forget about that, Mercer."

"Prove it," the man challenges, tilting back just far enough to bite at the wayward digit.

"Muiri in Markarth- when you go see her, you tend to come back smelling of ash and potion residue. Aia in Solitude- the scent of resin and wood, plus San's Spiced Wine. You used to visit the Jarl of Morthal's daughter periodically, though after being relocated to Solitude after the Stormcloaks claimed Hjaalmarch, it made things a little more difficult."

"I should not be surprised you know any of that and yet I have no idea _how_ you do."

Bare shoulders shrug slightly, then she says one word in a rather smug voice "Thief."

Mercer just shakes his head, then pulls the smaller woman against him once more. "Ever betray someone that trusted you with their life?"

"...I think it would depend on your definition of betrayal." A pensive look crosses Gwendolyn's face as she lays her cheek on his bare chest. "But if we are speaking of the traditional definition of betrayal, then yes. A fair amount, if I had to hazard a guess."

"Do you ever regret any of them?"

Very slowly a mahogany draped head nods, followed by. "Very rarely at this point. In the beginning I had to justify my actions to myself many a time; I had to, considering a number of people I was turning my back on were the Jarls whose people I swore to defend. Eventually it became not about the needs of the many, but the needs of the one- what would allow me to survive another day, what would allow me to gain more wealth or more power... Some nights though, especially when I do not want to leave the privacy of my own home, I unfortunately crave interaction with another person whether it's through simple conversation or something a bit more and..." Here, the woman shrugs her free shoulder and stops talking.

"And?"

She huffs, then pulls herself free from Mercer's grasp. "And perhaps it's just easier to show you, if you're going to be that damned nosy. Follow me," Gwendolyn says as she slips out from underneath the fur blanket, making her way towards the stairs. Needless to say, the younger woman was surprised when the normally headstrong man says nothing and complies, following her down to the main room in her basement. "I'm showing a little bit of faith in you talking of this, Mercer. Do not make me regret it." She pauses, then adds "And that was not just a threat. That was the promise of a whole lot of hurt if you even consider breathing a word of this to anyone, let alone take them." _To make sure though, I should move them out of The Rift as soon as possible. Perhaps when I go to deal with Gulum-Ei..._

When he gives his agreement to the woman standing before him, Mercer watches her come to a stop before the odd piece of ebony armor he noticed before. "You had made a comment earlier about my Housecarl, to which I responded that it wasn't something to worry about and I believe you quipped about my being bloodthirsty... That's not that far from the truth..."

A thin finger reaches out and brushes the cold metal. "Northeast of Windhelm, there is a Daedric Shrine, the Sacellum of Boethiah. Iona was my unwilling sacrifice to the Daedric Lord."

"You were given a piece of armor just for a sacrifice?"

She snorts derisively. "Far from it. When is anything regarding a Daedric Prince ever that simple or easy? Her previous champion, in her own words, displeased her. I was tasked to kill every member of his band of idiots silently and from the shadows, then to kill him without mercy. The Ebony Mail is my badge of office, so to speak, as her new Champion- she was quite pleased with my handiwork." Gray orbs look up to meet his intense green ones and she goes "I am alive because that one is dead. I exist because I have the will to do so. And I shall remain as long as there are signs of my handiwork, such as the blood dripping from my blade."

Before the Breton could say anything, the woman moves on towards a shelf with a long box on it and continues her story. "Then there's this," she goes, caressing the top of the display case reverently, then lifts up the lid. When he moves next to her, Mercer notices a katana-like weapon of the darkest black, much like the armor on the table.

 **Mercer Frey...**

When she feels the man start beside her, Gwendolyn glances up at his face. "You hear her, don't you?"

 **So you're the one Nocturnal told me about...the one who not only betrayed an entire Guild but also murdered the man who loved you like a brother. I almost wonder what my blade could have done in hands like yours, but I wouldn't trade my current Champion for anything at this point.**

"Who... How...?"

"I present to you the Ebony Blade, weapon of the Webspinner, Mephala. Somehow, the former Jarl of Whiterun found it and hid the blade within Dragonsreach. For good reason, considering what this weapon is capable of if used properly." Seeing the unasked question in her Guild Master's eyes, Gwendolyn decides to sate his curiosity. "I had heard a rumor from the owner of the Bannered Mare, Hulda, about the...strangeness of Balgruuf's children. Being his Thane at the time it was quite easy to find out the validity of what I was told, learning that his youngest was becoming a bit moody- and that's putting it rather mildly. After a few rather interesting insults and a good number of secrets regarding his father, Nelkir told me of the Whispering Lady- Mephala. She tasked me with finding a way of unlocking the door, and before you ask, yes I tried picking the lock and that wasn't working- some sort of seal that the Court Wizard put over the door was preventing anyone from getting in unless they had the proper key."

Mercer's mind thinks of the Skeleton Key, currently nestled away in one of the pockets of his armor. He couldn't help but wonder if said artifact could have gotten past the magic user's sorcery, considering it could open any lock. _And so much more_ , he thinks to himself. "And how did you get the key in question?"

"Fucked him til he could barely keep his eyes open- when Farengar finally passed out from exhaustion I stole the key, grabbed the sword, then to start the process of bringing it back to full power I killed him while he was still in sleep's embrace. I don't think he ever got replaced, nor did they ever figure out who made off with the blade, so I would greatly appreciate silence on this." _Then again, I sincerely doubt Vignar would believe you, so you could try, but I'm pretty sure you'd just get laughed out of Dragonsreach._ She watches as his eyebrow just twitches slightly, though the woman wasn't quite sure if it was from amusement or disgust...or perhaps some combination of the two. As she closes the glass lid to the case, the younger thief points out "You wanted to know, Mercer. I'm not going to sugarcoat the truth- I fucked a man that trusted me, then proceeded to end his life for more power. More people have met the end of their life by my hands with this blade than there are that currently call the Guild home. Now you tell me, Guild Master Frey, have I betrayed people that trusted me with their life?"

 **If she can do it to a simple mage she can do it to you. End this madness before she finds out the truth! She'll betray you!**

 _She's no different than I am. If I could murder Gallus and frame Karliah for it, who can say I couldn't do it to her? But... I can't...won't...let her go. She's mine, and I'll be damned if I let my past destroy my future. After everything, Fate fucking owes me at least that much._

He says nothing at first, just grabs onto her bare hips and presses her firmly up against the wall beside the shelf. "You could tell me you murdered a Jarl, the High King or the Emperor, or could tell me that you robbed a Hold down to its last septim, and I would not think any less of you Gwendolyn Maullaine," Mercer tells her quietly as he leans his forehead against hers, slowly rubbing their noses together in a rather gentle manner. "Perhaps it is because I too have done my fair share of betraying those who trusted me and I understand. Perhaps it is because I too know well the allurement of a Daedra's promises of power and riches. Then again...perhaps it is just because it's you."

The Breton quickly covers Gwendolyn's mouth when she opens it to speak. "Shh. Just... just let me... just let me try to figure this out." Though steel orbs narrow at the way he silenced her, they soften just as quickly slightly around the edges when she hears the uncertainty in his voice. A muffled sigh escapes her in exasperation, then she nods against the rough hand, showing her acquiescence.

"I had them in order, you know. My priorities, that is. Make coin and survive long enough so I can put thieving in this gods forsaken province behind me and move onto newer places- warmer places. I planned to turn the guild over to Brynjolf and Delvin after the coming winter's end and let them deal with the idiots that called the Flagon home, then cross the border into either Hammerfell or Cyrodiil, maybe even pay High Rock a visit. Didn't plan on getting attached, as attachments are rather dangerous in our line of work.

"Then you came asking about Esbern, and I couldn't help but wonder what a seemingly innocent young woman could want with some insane Nord conjurer of cheap tricks. But soon after Brynjolf came back with news that the Thalmor scouring the Ratways looking for the mage in question had all been brutally killed, I then realized that perhaps that air of sweet naivete you gave off was just an act to convince your enemies to pay you no heed. I wondered if perhaps your path would bring you back to the Flagon again, but weeks and months passed with no sign.

"Four months later had Brynjolf coming before me, saying that he had found a possible new recruit, one that possessed more of an aptitude for our line of work than most of the idiotic footpads that somehow find their way into the Flagon. Now I had heard this from him before, and the majority of them barely lasted more than a week, but something was telling me to humor him this last time. When he brought you to me, there was a subtle shift in the winds that blew through the Cistern, though for the life of me I could not figure if it boded well or ill for the Guild...or for me. Truth be told, I'm still not sure."

Gwendolyn reaches up, and, while brushing some rogue hair out of Mercer's eyes, tells him "Only one thing in life is certain, and that's the fact death is the destiny of all life. The where we end up is uncertain, as that's based on what the person does with their life or which Prince or Princes you swear oaths to, but no one can escape the act of dying. Only thing you can do is make the most of what time you've got and go out in a way that will make for a better song." She goes to say more only to have a yawn interrupt her, causing the woman to flush in embarrassment. "Sorry...haven't slept much the past few days. I wonder why?"

"The great Gwendolyn Maullaine proves she cannot go indefinitely without sleep," Mercer teases as he picks her up once more, this time to carry her up the stairs and back to the bed. "Never thought I would see the day."

"And I never thought I'd see the day where the consistently dour Mercer Frey would show a facial expression that wasn't a permanent scowl or some other way to show your disapproval. Unfortunately for me, however, no one would believe it if I told them."

As the older thief lays her on top of the bed once again, he tells her "It has been a very long time since I have had anything to smile over."

"Way to make yourself sound ancient, Mercer," Gwendolyn goes as she lays back on a pillow, staring up at him. "Perhaps it's time for you to retire and go live up with the Greybeards? It shouldn't be too late for you to learn how to use the Voice and- ack!" Her jest gets cut off as the man in question launches himself at her, pinning her to the bed.

"As I told the last person who made a comment about my age, wench, I still feel plenty young," he mumbles into the side of her neck as his hips move just enough so his erection presses up against her entrance. "Perhaps I should show you just how young you make me feel."

* * *

The next morning found Gwendolyn waking up alone, but what surprised her wasn't that, but the fact that on the pillow next to her were two small flowers on top of a folded piece of parchment- the first was the easily found Dragon's Tongue, the other was the ever elusive Yellow Mountain Flower which the young thief only found somewhere east of Falkreath. She had attempted planting the latter bloom once in the greenhouse in Lakeview Manor, unfortunately the flower was having none of it. _Perhaps there was something in the soil that allowed the the blossom to flourish as it did? If that is the case then...where did he get this from? And how?_ Her head shakes in amusement, the disheveled locks flying haphazardly around, then unfolds the piece of paper.

 _ **Staying in bed isn't going to get us any closer to figuring out what Gulum-Ei knows, Gwen, no matter how much I enjoyed having you in it.**_

 _ **I do hope you come back in one piece this time, or else I might have to ban you from these sort of jobs until you learn to not get hurt.**_

 _ **Eyes front.**_

* * *

A/N: I love Skyrim. Oblivion too. But I don't like how no one seems to bat an eye at the fact you carry around Daedric Artifacts- rather openly too. Whether for good or ill, it's just brushed off. Take the Vigilants of Stendarr- they're supposed to smite worshipers of the Daedra, WELL HERE I AM CARTING AROUND SEVENTEEN OF EM! COME AT ME! ...Not a damn thing. They notice if you smell of wet dog, but not that you're carrying around the Mace of Molag Bal. No wonder Skyrim's gone to shit between the dragons, the Aldmeri Dominion and the Civil War.

I also, admit, that I'm taking a little bit of liberty with rather hands on Daedric Princes. I feel that if you're their Champion, they'd take at least a little more interest in what chaos you're sowing in their names, especially if their bored (feel free to read bored in Sheogorath's voice if you'd like). Not enough manipulation in my eyes.

So thank you to those who have continued to come back and read this. Feel free to leave me comments, criticism, even questions or ideas of what you might want me to try doing in this or maybe another one of my works- or a completely new one!

Onward to the next adventure- Gulum-Ei awaits!


	8. Chapter 8

"I can't believe Gulum-Ei's mixed up in all this; that Argonian couldn't find his tail with both hands. Don't get me wrong, he could scam a beggar out of his last septim... but he's no mastermind."

Gray eyes look over the rim of the tankard at the ginger Nord sitting across from Gwendolyn in the Flagon. "Might make him easier to deal with if he's all bark and no bite... Think he'll give me trouble?"

"Trouble?" Brynjolf stares at her in astonishment, then lets out a snort. "He's one of the most stubborn lizards I've ever met! You have your work cut out for you Lass. There are thieves and then there is Gulum-Ei. No honor, no code at all. He'd shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time. Keep your eyes on him, he's quite crafty."

"Not unlike some of the people here in the Guild, Bryn... How is this Gulum-Ei an asset to the Guild exactly, especially if he is that much of a thorn in our collective side?"

"Gulum-Ei works in the East Empire Company Warehouse," the older thief goes, explaining why the Argonian was important despite the evidence to the contrary. "He helps maintain all of the shipments of goods that goes in and out of Solitude. That means he has the pick of the litter from some of the finest goods to grace Skyrim's shores. He isn't exactly in the Guild, but he pays us a cut of all the stuff he lifts from the warehouse. The cut he's supposed to provide the Guild has dwindled as of late. He says pickings in the Warehouse are slim, but I'm certain he's lying."

"Great, if it's not stupid Altmers, it's handsy Imperials, and if it's not that, it's stubborn Argonians. What or who will you throw in my lap next, Brynjolf, hmm?" Gwendolyn smirks at the man in question, then takes a sip of her mead. After a few moments, she asks "So, how do I get him to talk? Dare I hope I won't have to bed the idiot?"

"Nothing so crass, Lass. Like most greedy individuals, if you can't persuade him, you'll have to buy him off- it's the only way to get his attention. If that fails, follow him and see what he's up to. If I know Gulum-Ei, he's in way over his head and you'll be able to use that as leverage."

"Part of me wants to kill him for his betrayal, but if there's one thing that's stuck in my head these past couple of days, is that murder isn't always the answer to one's problems- but it's something to consider falling back on in the worst case scenario. So, betrayal or not, I'll let the bastard live...but he's going to owe us for this."

The Second leans back in his chair, giving the young woman an appraising look over his own tankard. "I'm glad to see you're embracing our methods, as difficult as they are to hold to sometimes. It would be a waste to lose a contact at the East Empire Company before we had the entire story, but yes, we'll be making good use of that debt with the fingers he has in that pie. For now, just keep on Gulum-Ei's tail and he's bound to step into something that he can't scrape off his boot."

"Just follow the stench," she quips with a smile, then turns serious once again. "If I get information from Gulum-Ei, what then?"

"Honestly, just head right back to the Guild and get the information to Mercer. Nothing else is more important than that. If, however, you discover that Gulum-Ei is holding out on us and has more loot stashed away than he claims, we'd find that information quite valuable as well."

"I'll be sure to bring a sample of what's laying around should I find anything worthwhile, you know that. Speaking of bringing things back, do you happen to need anything from that area of Skyrim while I'm gone?"

"Two things. I have it on good authority that there's a stash of Firebrand wine in the Blue Palace. If you can find it and manage to bring it back, I'll definitely not turn a bottle of that down."

The brunette chuckles- if it wasn't women Brynjolf was chasing, it was the opportunity to sit down and relax with a drink. That at least she could respect about the man, as more often than not she unwinded after a long day with a glass or two of wine. "And the second thing?"

"Yes. Do try coming back uninjured this time Lass."

"One time, Bryn! I came back injured one time!"

* * *

"This is a bit out of our normal sort of work, you understand that right?"

"This isn't a normal sort of job, now is it?"

"Who exactly do you want followed?"

Two dossiers get slid over the table, which are picked up and flipped through.

"This is-"

"Yes."

"What did they do?"

"Does it really matter?"

A chuckle, then "No, I suppose not. Anyone you prefer to take this?"

"The usual suspects if they're not busy- I'd rather not have some of your newer minions take this job on- they'll probably kill first and ask questions later, and I'm not risking any of my Thanehoods for anyone. One for each... Truth be told, I was hoping Cicero and Babette would be open to be helping."

"They both miss you, we all do...well, what's left of us old members... including Mother. Would it kill you to pay us a visit?"

"Ha ha. I had heard it was necessary for you to move, that you're up in Dawnstar now?"

"Your Delvin Mallory has a very bad habit of letting secrets out."

"Pfft. Not mine, not by a long shot. But where _exactly_ do you think he acquires all those ingredients for you and the others on short notice? It's not like our Guild Hall has a greenhouse or the like- sure, there's Ingun, but some of the things you ask for would raise more than a few eyebrows."

"Always did wonder, especially since no questions were asked. Where do you want us working out of?"

Dark brows furrow in thought. "Hjaalmarch would probably be better, though The Pale would be a bit more out of the way from any Hold capital. On the other hand, the second location has more of a chance of the giant neighbors coming to grab something to eat though, while the first just has to deal with horkers. I would offer Falkreath, but having either one of them in close proximity to the Rift and the border to Cyrodiil doesn't sit well with me, and I'm certainly not going to have them held in any of my homes in the cities. I'm sure you understand that, Oleander."

"Of course... Are you sure there is nothing I can do at this point to convince you to start doing jobs with us again? Now that the mess with Astrid is over and the family is settled down in the new Sanctuary, I need all the good hands I can get."

"I'll keep the offer in mind, but I think I'll stay where I am right now."

"Something have you staying? Or is it _someone_?"

"That is _none_ of your damned business."

"You are the family's favorite, I dare say it is my business." A pause, then "Can you trust him?"

"You know, he asked me pretty much the same question. I told him that I could trust him as far as I could throw him with my own hands without any outside assistance." A dark eyebrow arches at the hooded male across the table. "I'm a thief. You're an assassin. We don't trust anyone, even our own...well, we're not supposed to." When Oleander scoffs, the woman continues "Astrid is a perfect example- you trusted her and she tried to have you killed, and ended up getting herself and most of the others killed in the process... Also, I'm sure if the price is right you'd shove a dagger into my back while hugging me, so don't even try to deny it."

"...if, for some strange reason the Night Mother asked it of us, and she would not be swayed...I honestly don't know Gwendolyn. Sithis willing I never get put into that situation."

"So ends the lesson, as my Guild Master has a habit of saying." The brunette takes a last drink from the unlabeled bottle, and, as the blackberry hits her tongue, couldn't help but wonder if there was some way she could convince Talen-Jei to quietly hand over the recipe- just to have a stash at her other homes. "As fun as this has been, I have a surprise appointment with someone at The Winking Skeever and something tells me it is going to be a long night. As usual, you're welcome to stay as long as you like, just don't have the guard breaking down my door. I might have ties to the High King, and I did convince the Jarl to keep me on as her Thane, but that doesn't mean I'll let you throw me under the carriage if you get seen committing a murder and have it traced back to Proudspire. Do we have an understanding?"

"Of course, you know that. And I would stay, but I have some... business of my own to take care of down in Markarth that needs to be tended to by tomorrow night. I will let you know as things progress. Eyes open, Gwendolyn."

"And shadows hide you, Oleander."

"They always do, my dear, they always do."

* * *

A/N: So I know I promised Gulum-Ei, but I forgot I had written this. Part of the conversation between Gwen in Brynjolf is taken from the game if you ask him about said lizard, with some tweaks and whatnot, so if it looks familiar, that's why.

Oleander, while not important now, will play more of a role, along with his merry band of murderers, later on. I know that Elder Scrolls tends to make you join _and_ become head of every bloody Guild in the games, and I really don't like that. There's no way anyone, even with the grace of the Nine or all the Daedra, could run all the Guilds without going batshit. Sorry, Guilds, I've got important things to do, we'll talk later... after you pick someone else to deal with your shit.

So another chapter down, and who knows how many more to go. Thank you for reading, I do appreciate it!


	9. Chapter 9

"Now, there's no need to do anything rash... This isn't as bad as it seems."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Gwendolyn goes, gesturing around with her dagger, the torchlight glinting off the sharp ice like blade. "I'm sure Master Frey and his Second would love to see all of this. I believe Brynjolf told me you kept saying that the pickings in the various cargoes were slim... I don't call this slim, do you Argonian?"

"I was going to tell Mercer about everything, honestly! Please...he'll have me killed!"

"Tell me what I want to know, and just maybe I'll consider not saying anything. But be warned, if I don't like what I hear...you won't have to worry about the Guild Master ending your pitiful excuse of a life."

"No, please! There's no need for that!" The employee wrings his hands together nervously, then goes "I'll tell you everything. It's Karliah...her name is Karliah."

A dark shadow flickers across the female thief's face at the mention of the elusive Dunmer, but she decides to see what information can be gleaned from the now willing male. "You say that name like I should know it."

"Mercer never told you about her? It's not surprising, as that's a rather black mark on the history of the Guild and your Guild Master's past," Gulum-Ei says quietly, his wide yellow eyes staring into her expressionless silver ones. "From what I gathered, Mercer and Karliah were inseparable, working together whenever the chance presented itself. Rumor even went around that he had a strong romantic interest in her, but those comments stopped when the Dumner was seen with the previous Guild Master Gallus Desidenius. Karliah is the thief responsible for his murder, and now she's after Mercer."

 _ **What if Mercer's not after Karliah just to kill her?**_

 _Hush you._ "And you're helping her? Are you that eager to get killed?"

"Help?" Now he really starts panicking. "No, no! Look, I didn't even know it was her until after she contacted me! Please, you have to believe me!"

"Hmm. Where is Karliah now?" Gwendolyn drawls out, using the blade of her dagger to clean under her nails.

"I don't know. When I asked her where she was going, she just muttered "Where the end began." Here, take the Goldenglow Estate Deed as proof. And when you speak to Mercer, tell him I'm worth more to him alive."

The female thief nods thoughtfully then goes, "I do hope you don't need this deed back, because I'm keeping it. Any objections?"

"Consider it a gift. The thing seems to be bringing me nothing more than trouble anyway. Karliah didn't even want it, she wanted to keep the sale a secret... I can see how well that went."

"Why did she purchase Goldenglow Estate anyways? Not something a thief would want unless they were possibly attempting to become legitimate."

"I asked her the same thing and she wouldn't come out and tell me anything. But now that I know who she is, between you and me, I'd say that she's trying to hit the Thieves Guild where it hurts- their allies and their coin purse."

"How exactly would that hurt the Guild in the end?"

"Maven Black-Briar needs Goldenglow's honey for her mead. She's been using the Guild to keep the Estate under her thumb. If the owner cut the Guild out of the picture, he cuts Maven out of the picture at the same time- declaring his independence so to speak, or at least the Estate's. Not having access to Goldenglow's honey is something that she cannot afford. If I was Maven- which I'm glad I'm _not_ , mind you- I'd blame the Guild for weakening and not being able to handle the place."

"Which makes Maven lose faith in us."

"Exactly. For the Guild to survive in this day and age with the lack of luck they've been having, they need Maven's support. This Karliah must have spent a lot of time and resources planning this."

Gwendolyn looks at the lizard thoughtfully. Considering he was more than forthcoming with the information, she supposed she could appear merciful and let him live- not that she'd tell him that she was under orders not to harm him. "Alright, my anger's been somewhat appeased. I'll keep quiet about your little scam, but you owe me."

A toothy grin breaks out on the Argonian's face as he inwardly sighs in relief. "Now you're speaking my language. Tell you what. If you need any stolen goods fenced, you bring them to me and I'll pay you good money for them. Consider me your new friend in the north."

* * *

Mercer enters the Flagon from off the Ratways, once again being summoned by a still rather irate Maven Black-Briar regarding the rather dagger happy thief that attacked her minion for no reason whatsoever and causing her undue financial hardship because the Black-Briar matriarch had to find someone to take the injured Imperial's place until he was well enough to run her new acquisition. As was his usual habit, the Guild Master tuned her out, his mind preferring to dwell on other things than listen to whatever came out of the Nord's mouth.

It had been five days since Gwendolyn Maullaine discussed with his Second on how best to handle Gulum-Ei, and three days since he received a message from one of his contacts in Solitude that she was seen sitting at a table in the city's inn having a drink with said lizard. After that, no one had seen nor heard from the female thief in question, which wasn't sitting well with Mercer as disappearing went against her normal habits.

As the Breton walked up the ramp leading to the tavern area, he sees Brynjolf happily nursing a bottle of Firebrand wine with Delvin sitting across from him, telling the Second how happy he was about the Guild...regaining a hold in Solitude? _What is he going on about?_

"Mercer, I see Maven still hasn't made you deaf yet with all her screaming and carrying on. Del was telling me of the praises Eirkur was singing regarding the job the Lass did for him while she was up in Solitude dealing with Gulum-Ei... From what she told us, he was a bit insulted when the Guild sent a woman to do what he thought was a man's job. Needless to say, Solitude should be a bit more open to the Guild from now on."

"So Maullaine has decided to bless us with her presence finally. She give a reason to why it took her so long to get back?"

The Sneak Trainer gestures in the direction of the Cistern and responds "Headed in that direction about half an hour ago or so, but she seemed to be restraining herself, Mercer. I'd not goad her into a fight as is your habit, but that's your prerogative."

Mercer tilts his head in understanding, then continues on his way to the Cistern, stopping short when his gaze falls on the table where he normally stood. On his open ledger stood a bottle of San's Spiced Wine, a now rather familiar dagger stuck upright in the binding holding a piece of parchment. _What is it with her and destroying my ledger? Next time she does it, I'm taking it out_ Prying the blade loose, verdant orbs dart over the neat script on the page, his gaze narrowing the further down he reads:

 _ **Master Frey-**_

 _ **I should have seen this coming.**_

 _ **The signs were right there in front of me the entire time.**_

 _ **What man in their right mind would pursue a woman for over twenty years?**_

 _ **Murderer or not, betrayer or not, most would eventually move on.**_

 _ **But you didn't, Mercer, and I couldn't figure out why until I spoke to Gulum-Ei.**_

 _ **I learned that once you loved her- perhaps that flame never really died?**_

 _ **In hindsight, I suppose I could understand why.**_

 _ **It's just a lesson I wish I didn't have to sacrifice my own heart to learn.**_

 _ **Maybe I did... Is this what everyone felt when I struck them down with Mephala's blade?**_

 _ **Is this what the Jarls I swore allegiance to felt when I fought against them in the Civil War?**_

 _ **Is this what you felt when you learned Karliah chose Gallus over you?**_

 _ **If Karliah is who you really want even after all this time, whether it's to fuck and kill or for some other reason, I'll not stand in the way.**_

 _ **Gulum-Ei said that the Dunmer mentioned going 'where the end began'. Considering he mentioned that you two were rather close years ago, I'm sure you have a pretty good idea of where that is since I do not.**_

 _ **Was I just something to tide you over until you found her again? Something to be used and thrown away?**_

 _ **Will you be revealing, then, everything I told you in the strictest of confidences?**_

 _ **Should I expect guards to be breaking down the doors of every home I own, removing everything within their walls?**_

 _ **Should I be expecting letters from the Jarls informing me that I've been stripped of my titles because I cavorted with Daedra in the search for more power?**_

 _ **Or, should I be prepared for a dagger to the back from you? I think that would make for an interesting part of my song when I die, yes? The Last Dragonborn, savior of Tamriel, but couldn't save herself when she was betrayed by the thief who stole her heart then her life?**_

 _ **...Whatever happens between the two of you, Mercer, I hope that, however long you have her, the end result makes you happy.**_

 _ **-Maullaine**_

* * *

"Not like this. I utterly _refuse_ to have it all ripped away from me because of a stupid idiot of an Argonian not being able to keep his damned mouth closed," Mercer mutters under his breath as he spends all of two minutes picking the lock to Honeyside's front door. The all familiar sound of a click hits his ears, and the thief slips into the home in the hopes that the younger thief was here. Unfortunately for him, Gwendolyn was not, but someone else was.

 **I was hoping your search for her would have brought you here first, Mercer Frey. I am _oh so glad_ that you did not disappoint.**

The man in question stops and looks around for the source of the voice, surprisingly not finding any. _You Daedra are going to just randomly make yourself known, aren't you? And which pain in man's collective ass are you? You're not Mephala, and I know well enough what Nocturnal sounds like._

 **Sharp** _ **and**_ **brutally honest. I can see why my Champion used to speak so highly of you, despite your dour mannerisms. Then your past reared its ugly head and inadvertently hurt her, something you told her you wouldn't do. So now, Mercer Frey, Guild Master of Thieves...you get to deal with** _ **me.**_

Emerald orbs narrow as they move across the open layout of the home, his booted feet quietly stepping on the floor. _Are all of you Princes this cryptic? I'm trying to find her and explain things to her- What more do you want from me?_

 **Why don't you look me in the eyes and see for yourself?**

A noise makes the thief jump, and he turns to see a horned skull with purple glowing...well, he supposed he could call them eye sockets, for lack of a better word, attached to a staff hanging on the weapon plaque above the bed. _Now I know well enough that was not there the last time I was here._ Mercer tries to pull his gaze away from the wall, but finds all too late that he stared just a few seconds too long. As lids slowly start to droop and his body drops to the floor, he goes _Wha...what are you doing?_

 **You, my dear Guild Master, are just full of knowledge, knowledge that I need. Now be a good boy and go to sleep so I can take a peek through your memories, hmm? I will try not to do too much damage- I'll leave that for my Champion to deal the next time you cross her path.** The last thing the thief registers before sleeps claims him is the feeling of arms in bunching sleeves picking him off the ground and being carried over to what he hopes is the bed. Then unconsciousness overcomes him, an odd look of peace floating across his features.

"Now, little Nightingale, let us have your memories first sing for me the song of where the end began..."

* * *

A/N: And Happy February everyone!

So, Gwen likes stabbing books, and my inner librarian doesn't like this at all. But better a book than a body, no?

And yet more Daedric meddling. Poor Mercer, you would think he'd learn by now... At least it's not Sheo pelting him with cheese... wait a minute, that's an idea... Nah. But this won't be the end of those busybody Princes unfortunately- those memories have to go somewhere...


	10. Chapter 10

In the master bedroom in one of the houses located in the Valunstrad quarter of Windhelm, a young thief sits at one of the small tables mindlessly plucking at the strings of a lute she found in a bandit hideout on her way to find a thrice-damned Elder Scroll. Gwendolyn knew she played rather ill, but even the discordant notes that her fingers coaxed out of the strings brought order to the chaos to her now confused mind.

"You know, I remember a time when the dragon sitting before me would fight tooth and nail to get what she wanted. Are you just going to let him slip through your fingers, my Champion?"

Steel disks peer out from under dark lashes at the robed figure in the doorway, the thief shaking her head in veiled amusement. "And what brings you from Quagmire, Vaermina? I'm sure as your Champion, you wouldn't need to come all the way to Nirn to check on my wellbeing- my memories and dreams could have saved you the trip."

"Ah, but as my Champion you're entitled to a little bit of preferential treatment, something the rest do not receive."

The thief wouldn't admit it, but her interest was piqued slightly. "I'm sure this treatment comes at a price?"

"All things do when they involve the Princes, you know this. However, the price, I think, is one you'll be more than willing to pay."

"That all depends on what you're offering."

Long fingers snap and two bottles appear on the table next to Gwendolyn. "I'm sure you remember what these are?"

It only took a quick glance to see what the bottles held. "Two bottles of torpor? And who was the original owner of these memories?" The woman peers at the label on both bottles and frowns. "There's no price I'd pay for these, not after everything."

"He's not chasing the Dark Elf to bed her. He's chasing her to kill her in order to keep his darker secrets protected. Wouldn't you even remotely like to know the what, the where, and especially the why?"

"Everyone's entitled to their secrets. I'm sure if Mercer wanted me to know of whatever sordid details were in his past he would tell me."

"He came close to doing so. Think about it- what was the conversation you had after your first round of primal fucking on your floor, when you both were in bed? He asked you if you had ever betrayed someone who trusted you with their life, then he mentioned something about a 'subtle shift' in the Cistern when you arrived there. Perhaps he wanted to see if you even understood, or perhaps he didn't because the man's trying to protect you, my Champion."

"Close isn't actually doing it, Dreamweaver. I understand better than most, but even if I didn't, I wouldn't have just tossed him aside because I was afraid of it- or him."

Before Gwendolyn could say anymore, Vaermina cuts her off with a short sentence. "Mercer Frey is going to die."

"What?"

"If you don't somehow go with your Guild Master, he is going to die."

"Even with...?"

A nod. "Regardless of your attendance, the Night Mother is going to tell your Listener friend to not get involved in the squabbles of the extended family, regardless of the Brotherhood's love for you."

"I had to try, she can't blame me for that. Though if she did want me coming back to officially join her motley crew of murderers, denying me help wasn't the way to get it," the young thief says with a huff. "So, let's say, _if_ I wanted the why..." The red bottle on the left starts glowing purple in response. "What's the second one for then?"

"That is your contingency plan if you can't convince the Nightingale that he needs a little bit more protection from the one who hunts him. It will allow you to dreamstride to the place the Dunmer said 'where the end began'."

Gwendolyn's brows furrow in thought. "Are you and the other Princes bored or something? First Mephala, now you. Next thing you'll tell me Nocturnal will grace this lowly thief with a visit..." She sighs quietly, her eyes staring at the two potions on the table beside her. "Before I say yes or no, what's the price?"

Another snap of the Daedra's fingers has a sealed piece of parchment in the woman's lap. Deft digits pick the paper up, break the wax and unfold it. "That's it? Nothing else?"

"Just that. Your choice on where you get them from."

"Time frame?"

"Just don't keep me waiting an eternity, my Champion."

* * *

 _I hated dreamwalking the first time and the second time made me like it even less,_ the thief thinks as she blinks away the effects of the potion induced vision. The torpor brought her from the snow covered streets of Windhelm to the much warmer walkways of Riften- more specifically, the backyard of one Riftweald Manor. Gwendolyn observes Memory Mercer activating the gearbox under the balcony with an arrow causing a ramp to lower- _Paranoid much?_ \- then raises it back up before unlocking the door on the second floor. She was surprised at the fact that, though the home was furnished, there were few personal touches- things that screamed that Mercer Frey lived here. _Perhaps he is of the same mind- why keep anything remotely valuable near the den of thieves?_

The memory continues on, down to the first floor, through a closed set of doors and over to a cabinet on the far left side of the room. A slight push has the back sliding away, revealing a staircase to a secret basement. _Curiouser and Curiouser. And what would you have need for this, Mercer?_ Mercer and his observer move on, heading into a series of trapped tunnels into what Gwendolyn would deem a hidden office of sorts. The woman takes note of things around the room- some gems in a bowl, a bust of a person wearing a mask in thieves' guild garb, some books and papers, and a sword in a display case. It was a second, smaller case attached to a pedestal that held the memory's attention and the man kneels before it, pressing slight indentations on the stone column, and as the memory fades away, both man and woman hear the tell-tale click of a lock clicking open...

As the young thief comes back to herself, gray eyes land on the same pedestal and automatically deft fingers reach out and pushes at the same places she saw past Mercer press. Pressing the last button, she inhales, praying that in the haze and the memory ending that one wasn't missed. Finally, just as she was about to bolt due to paranoia, a soft click hits her ears, causing her to sigh in relief. _Alright, let us see what the supposed why is, Vaermina. I'm blatantly disregarding a rule here, breaking into Mercer's house like this._ Rising, Gwendolyn slowly flips back the lid and looks down into the case. Confused orbs blink once, then twice, and finally she just goes "A...key?" She reaches down and picks the seemingly innocuous item up, nearly dropping it when she feels underlying power coursing through the metal. "Not just a key. Then what are you?"

 **You're a smart one. I can see why my Nightingale prefers your company over the idiots as he calls them. And so my Skeleton Key has been unknowingly and unwillingly passed on to a new protector- a dragon in human form at that.**

"Nocturnal..." Gwendolyn's mind whirls, trying to remember what she's read on the Daedric Prince of Night and Darkness, Nightingales and that of her Skeleton Key...which honestly wasn't much. Just the rumor that she heard more than once around the Guild that the Nightingales where the fictional avengers of Nocturnal and that, at least according to a somewhat drunken Vex, woven into tales to scare the newer thieves into doing what they were told. But, couldn't some truth be in the myth? "Are all of the Princes working together to throw some more chaos into my life? Surely there is someone more deserving of your collective attentions?"

 **No, to the first question. It is just a few of us who decided to work together and reward their Champion by pushing things in a certain direction- make their life a little less boring, happier even.**

"I'm not your Champion though, so why do you care?"

 **Not yet. But you will be. Also, you've given one of my Nightingales quite the challenge, with him trying to figure out how to keep you out of harms way while the other one seems set on forcing you into it.**

"I won't be your Champion if I don't agree to it- free will you know and all that." The brunette sighs, her tired eyes staring at the tool in her hand. "What is it that you want? I'm not agreeing to anything before I hear your terms."

 **Are we negotiating?** The voice of Nocturnal lifts in pitch slightly, as if asking a question that she already knew the answer to.

"Always."

A chuckle echoes through the small room as Gwendolyn feels something akin to a hand ruffling her hair. **Oh you are a delight. Very well. You are at least somewhat aware of what has transpired and is currently happening between my remaining two Nightingales,** the Daedra states factually. **What you know is true... from a certain point of view, of course. You, Gwendolyn Maullaine, wish to seek revenge on the Dark Elf that is set on destroying your happiness. I wish to punish the same Dark Elf for failing to fulfill her end of the contract she agreed to over twenty years ago. I am sure we can come to some mutually beneficial agreement.**

 _Great. Another Daedra wants to claim part of my soul. If I was a Nord, I would have definitely ensured my soul was not going to Sovngarde by now with the oaths I've sworn to the various Princes._ Though the thought of giving yet another Prince some semblance of control in her life bothered the thief (albeit slightly), Gwendolyn couldn't help but crave the power Nocturnal would be able to bestow. "I'm listening."

The brunette could almost hear the purr of delight in Nocturnal's voice. **Excellent. In exchange for... helping me properly punish her for all transgressions, as well as swearing your service to me, I will allow you usage of my Key for a time.**

"Well that doesn't necessarily work well in my favor now does it? Use of something I will end up having to return at your order, no doubt. So who is to say that you won't demand it back as soon as I swear myself to your service? No, I want something a bit more tangible as well as the use of this- with a set time frame as to when and how it is to be returned," the woman holds up the item in question, knowing the Daedra could see everything even though she could not see the Prince.

For a few minutes, Notcurnal says nothing, the Prince's mind attempting to see the possible outcomes of what the Dragonborn wanted from this negotiation. Though she did not have dominion over the realm of knowledge, the Daedra did, however, understand how her thieves thought- especially the ones she considered worthy of her favor. One particular future interested her, but it would take patience, time, and more than a little bit of manipulation for it to happen and come to fruition- more than the Queen of Shadows would normally allow for a contract. The return on investment, though, would be worth the wait- and that was all the Daedra cared about.

It was obvious that the mortal was getting nervous, though the mahogany haired female refused to outwardly show it. _I don't have time for negotiating with anyone, let alone a Prince,_ Gwen inwardly sighs, mentally preparing herself for a drawn out debate.

 **You realize that there will have to be some sacrifices made, yes?** **It will never truly be normal? Wouldn't another be a better substitute?**

"I understand having to sacrifice more than most- been doing enough sacrificing for others ever since the mantle of being the Last Dragonborn got hoisted on my shoulders. I am no longer giving up my happiness for others- I need to take care of me and mine first and foremost now."

 **Your terms are acceptable, though I wish to add one more of my own.**

"Not surprising. What is it?" When the Daedra told Gwen her last request to the contract, the woman snorts softly. "You're assuming such a thing is possible."

 **Not assuming. Fact. With what I've seen, heard and have been told? There will be no problems with that happening.**

"If that is the case, then I have my own additional conditions as well." When Gwendolyn states her extra terms, Nocturnal goes to object, but the thief points out "Considering what you want to add onto the contract, the least you can do is make it worth my while. You know as well as I do I can and _should_ ask for more than I am, with you wanting my service in the afterlife _plus_ the other conditions. In the end, you still come out with more than I do."

 **This is true. Very well, the terms are acceptable. I look forward to seeing how you flourish now, little dragon. The game has just gotten all the more interesting...**

* * *

A/N: I wasn't really sure on how to handle Vaermina, simply because of the fact in Skyrim, you don't have that much dealing with her save when Erandur is trying to destroy the staff. I'm really not sure if I did her enough justice... maybe I should break out Oblivion and see how she gets portrayed there, get some better inspiration.

Part of me would have loved having Nocturnal channel an inner John Milton, the character that Al Pacino plays in The Devil's Advocate. That movie (and book, though the movie changes some things from the book) was the inspiration for the "Are we negotiating" and "Always" lines. I can see Nocturnal manipulating a way to get what she wants in all forms, including making sure that Karliah was duly punished for screwing up... you can tell I was rather bothered that the Dunmer thief got off rather scott free when it came to Mercer being able to swipe the key (Yes, I know she ran for her life for over 25 years, but I don't think that was punishment enough)... Yes, I still don't like Karliah. Can't help it.

Next in the story: Mercer fucks up and gets caught, which leads to an interesting conversation, chains, and other things. We're getting closer to Snow Veil Sanctum... Poor Gwen...


	11. Chapter 11

Green eyes under a dark hood narrow as they watch an auburn haired, heavy armored Nord slip out of one of the homes in the walled city of Windhelm- a home that was empty the last time he passed through Eastmarch. _There's no Shadowmark in the usual spots though- perhaps we've become lax in checking the homes more often. Well then..._ The thief reaches into a pocket and pulls out a lockpick, a wry smile breaking out through the shadows on his face as he moves over to the door. _Let us see what your walls hold, shall we?_ Five seconds later has the sweet sound of the bolt becoming undone, allowing him entrance into the thankfully warm home.

As he shuts the door behind him, Mercer doesn't move from his spot, listening to see if anyone else was in the home- the sound of the fires crackling the only thing he hears. _Excellent. Now to see if we can figure out about the person who just left and if this home is worth emptying of its' valuables._ In one room, the shelves surrounding a well used alchemy table were stocked with ingredients and bottles of various colors and sizes, each one meticulously labeled with what the glass vessel held. For some reason the script looked vaguely familiar, but for the life of him the thief couldn't put his finger on where. _The handwriting is too neat to be written by a man, let alone one who clanks around in heavy armor. Perhaps a housecarl or wife? Maybe a sister?_ The main room didn't have much- a table meant for six, rather boring books on some shelves, a view to a stocked kitchen with a roaring fire, a small table with an open letter on it:

 **Stormblade-**

 **Heard you were back in Windhelm after gallivanting to gods only know where, and you didn't think to pay Ulfric and I a visit up at the palace? If you have time for two aging warriors, come up for a drink tonight. And yes, that's an order.**

 **Galmar Stone-Fist**

 _Drinks with the Jarl-Turned-High-King. Must be relatively well off then with that sort of connection..._ Upstairs was more suited to the thief's liking, with display cases holding enchanted jewelry, a variety of weapons being held on plaques or in racks, and mannequins holding armors that have seen their fair amount of fights- with the dents and blood spatters to prove it. At the sight of the blades, bows and gear, the man's heart wrenches. Mercer's mind immediately pulls up the memories of another home that had a similar setup and of the person who owned said home- the woman who unknowingly made a mess of his carefully laid plans. All he wanted was for morning to come so that he could continue on to Snow Veil Sanctum, _permanently_ deal with Karliah, then what? Could he still hold to his original plan and leave Skyrim? The worn out thief wasn't certain anymore, not now that Gwendolyn became a rather permanent fixture in his mind.

The room to his right, though small, was decently furnished, with a square wooden table set for one and a single bed underneath windows. Mercer was surprised though when, peeking inside the tall wardrobe and dresser, he saw only clothes and shoes made for a male the same stature of the one that was seen leaving earlier. _Doesn't mean anything. You see one Nord, you've seen them all. They're all built the same, all look the same, all act the same._

Entering what he would learn would be the master bedroom, laurel orbs first land on a rather stuffed bookcase, soon realizing that these books were more to his liking. The Breton saw the familiar titles of _Vernaccus and Bourlor, Sacred Witness, A Dance in Fire, v6,_ and _Aevor Stone-Singer,_ as well as _The Dreamstride,_ two books on Boethiah _, 16 Accords of Madness, v. IX_ and a well-read copy of _Nightingales: Fact or Fiction?_ Some of the other books looked to be journals, but the thief knew he could not peruse through them leisurely at this point in time.

 **Reading through one wouldn't hurt. Allow me to choose one for you.**

The Guild Master scowls as once again his Daedric ball and chain makes an unwelcome appearance. _And I suppose you know exactly who owns this house?_

 **Of course I do. I'm surprised you haven't figured it out already- there's been at least four things that give it away. Must be losing your edge as you get older, Mercer.**

 _I think I've proven that I'm plenty young, unless not all Daedra have voyeuristic tendencies._

Nocturnal just chuckles softly then responds to his statement. **Do not worry, my Nightingale. I was not watching you or your Dragon.** _ **Sanguine**_ **on the other hand took great pleasure in regaling that night's escapades in great detail. I don't think the Divines intended for any of their amulets to be used that way, but if you enjoyed having that done to you Mercer, I certainly won't judge.**

 _Just tell me which bloody book you want me to read so you'll leave me alone!_ A hint of color graces the mortal's cheekbones partially from embarrassment, partially due to the memories the comment made resurface.

 **Demanding something of me are we, Guild Master Frey? You know I'll want something in return.**

Mercer bites back a snarky retort and instead goes _What more do you want from me? You already have me in the afterlife, is that not enough?_

 **Is taking just one gem from a bowlful of them ever enough for a thief?**

 _When is it ever enough?_ Here he pinches the bridge of his nose, the threat of headache looming. _I'm listening._ It wouldn't be until many months later that the man would learn why the Daedra let out a chuckle; when he did, he too would laugh at the memory.

Instead of telling her Nightingale what she wanted, Nocturnal shows him a bit of the future that had interested her, the one she very much wanted to see come to fruition.

 _You assume such a thing can even happen. Who is to say that the parties involved will still be alive, or still speaking for that matter?_

 **It is a possible future, which means it** _ **can**_ **happen... with the right nudging, of course.**

 _For a price._

 **Of course. What you saw was the price. That's what I want to get out of it.** The Prince pauses, as if contemplating their next words carefully. **You're not going to live forever, Mercer. Wouldn't it be... nice... to leave a legacy that's not tarnished by lies and murder?**

* * *

"I need to get back to Hjerim, General. It wouldn't do for the High King's Thane to be seen stumbling home like a drunkard leaving a tavern."

"And that's why you still have a bed here in the palace, Stormblade! One would almost think you're afraid to stay here anymore."

Gwendolyn chuckles as she sets down a tankard, her metallic orbs sparkling from a combination of mirth and drink. "Afraid? Hardly, Galmar. I just know I'll sleep better knowing that our Lord's" here, her head tilts to the man in question to her left, "harridan of a wife won't be able to slip a knife in between my ribs at home."

"Is she still making those threats?" A blonde eyebrow arches on Ulfric's face, then he shakes his head in exasperation. "Merilis is lucky I didn't have her executed after the first attempt on your life- it would be well within your rights to ask for it, Gwendolyn."

After the Stormcloaks won the war against the Empire and their Thalmor handlers, the Moot, in their infinite wisdom, felt that in order for Skyrim to properly heal, the new High King would need to marry a woman that had Imperial leanings. Immediately, the enraged man shot down the idea of wedding Elisif simply because of the fact she still believed he murdered Torygg in cold blood. Gwendolyn, on the other hand, refused to let her Jarl consider either Ingun Black-Briar or Idgrod the Younger, though she never gave Ulfric a reason why. He thought it odd though, when Vignar Gray-Mane brought up the possibility of the Bear of Markarth marrying the Last Dragonborn, she just gave the older man a sad smile and just said she wasn't one for idle court life, that she could better serve her King as his blade and not as a bedwarmer or a broodmare. Finally after much debate, it was decided that Ulfric would wed Brina Merilis, a retired Nord who was an Imperial Legate during the Great War and went to live in Dawnstar.

Originally, the thief had no issue with the chosen woman- Gwendolyn respected the former Legate for standing up for what she believed in and felt that if anyone could handle Ulfric's stubborn personality, it could be Merilis. Unfortunately, that respect was diminished when the Nord woman demanded that the High King remove the Dragonborn from his court. What was left of the regard was _obliterated_ when, after Ulfric laughed and put his wife in her place regarding Gwendolyn's importance, the woman attempted to have the Thane of Eastmarch killed by the Dark Brotherhood. If it wasn't for the near familial ties she had with the members, even before their near decimation in Falkreath, chances are it might have succeeded.

"Merilis can threaten all she wants, you know as well as I do she's all bark, no bite and the only support she has comes from Horik," the brunette goes, taking a long drink from her tankard. "Maybe if you stayed in a bed long enough to get the woman with child, Ulfric, her disposition might change... Besides, you need a legitimate heir, my King."

"Would have marrying me been all that difficult?"

Gwendolyn inwardly winces at the seemingly innocent question, the answer too difficult to explain simply. "We can't keep having this discussion, Ulfric, you know this."

"And I can't keep needing an answer," the slightly older man goes petulantly, taking her hand in his. "Was it too much of a sacrifice for you? I never would have kept you from doing anything you wanted, even if it was to become a thief as you are now, or apprentice to become a master blacksmith. I would have given you the world, Gwendolyn..."

She gives him a slight smile and gives the hand a squeeze. "And that's the reason why I couldn't marry you, Ulfric. The way you fought for your throne is how I want to get what I want- through hard work, patience and a lot of luck... And you're a Bear- _Dragons eat Bears_. You'd never survive me, my King, and I very much enjoy having you alive and relatively whole."

"Besides, what she's not tellin' ya Ulfric is she's got someone already."

Silver eyes narrow dangerously at the man sitting across the table from her. "And how in the name of Talos do you know that, Stone-Fist? Peeping through my windows down in Riften perhaps?"

Galmar just laughs and goes "Well it's either that, or the man- who isn't Calder, mind you- that was reported twenty minutes ago to be entering your home tonight is a thief that doesn't obey your Guild's rules. Which is it?"

"You wait until now to tell me that someone just happened to be breaking into my home. Gods, I don't know which of you is worse General- you, Ulfric, or Mercer!" Before either man could attempt calming the enraged woman down, Gwendolyn was up and storming out the door to check the validity of his statement.

"I do hope you're prepared to face her wrath alone, my friend," the High King tells his Housecarl as he sits back in his chair, his emerald eyes never leaving the doors into the main hall. "You know better than most hiding information from Stormblade is a very bad idea. We did learn something from this after all, and it's something I want the answer to very soon- who is this Mercer she mentioned?"

* * *

A/N: Finally I get this kinda sorta where I wanted it. More Nocturnal meddling and Galmar keeping secrets. Bad General.

Poor Ulfric. Stuck married to a woman who has severe jealousy issues, all because he's a bear and bears are crunchy and taste good with ketchup to dragons. I picked Merilis simply because it was something different, for me anyways- normally Ulfric in my stories either marries the Dragonborn, gets stuck with Elisif (Dragonborn and the Sneak and it's eventual spinoff), or his childhood friend (Only Thing That Matters). Brina Merilis only matters if you side with the Imperials or give Dawnstar to the Imperials during the meeting up at High Hrothgar. I'm a Stormcloak loyalist through and through (even if I do sometimes treat Ulfric horribly), so I can never have him truly be happy married to someone loyal to the Empire.

Next up, Gwen finds Mercer reading something he shouldn't and he finds out just exactly who's home he broke into; missing pants; an interesting challenge and a choice.


	12. Chapter 12

A groan escapes the Breton some time later as he tried to get his rather scrambled memories in order. He remembered the master bedroom, his conversation with Nocturnal and his starting to read the book the Daedra chose for him to read. The thief hadn't heard anyone coming up behind him, but then why did the back of his head ache so much? How many hours had passed, Mercer wasn't sure, but when he finally opens his eyes, he discovers a few things. The first is that he finds himself in a small room that he didn't recognize from his original pass through of the home, the second is that he's rather cold. Then he realizes his hands are in manacles, causing his arms to be held somewhat above him. _Wait a minute, why am I cold?_ A glance down quickly revealed the reason why. "Where in the Void are my clothes?"

A cough from across the room gives him pause, and verdant orbs slowly move up from the dark wood floor towards the wall, catching the blue-gray hem of a skirt. His gaze travels up higher, over long legs, a trim waist and ample breasts. But when he finally gazes upon the person's face, he sure didn't think he would see an unarmed Gwendolyn staring right back at him. He watches as her eyes narrow slightly, then the movement of her hem rising causes his eyes to fall down again. The material moves up her pale skin at an unhurried pace, baring calf, then knee, and eventually up her thigh, revealing a dagger in a sheath tied halfway up to her waist. _Never mind then. Why doesn't it surprise me she wears a dagger even under skirts?_

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shove this blade in between your ribs for breaking into another one of my homes, Mercer."

"Gwen...what are you...?" Then his mind catches up to him and angry eyes narrow. "What do you mean, _your home_? I saw a redheaded Nord in heavy armor leaving earlier tonight..."

"That would have been Calder, yes. He lives here too."

"One misunderstanding and you already find someone else? And in such a short period of time as well...perhaps I was the one to... how did you put it in that lovely letter you stabbed through my ledger? Oh, yes, perhaps I was the one to tide you over until he came along? Something to be used and thrown away?" The man puts a malicious smirk on his face though the thought of her moving on so fast, especially with someone who from a distance looked like...

"You dare?" In the blink of an eye the enraged woman was in front of him, her right hand slapping him across the face. 'You are a thief. You're supposed to find out everything you can about an unknown situation, not speculate on the job. Assumptions are the mother of all fuckups, Mercer Frey, and you done fucked up royally! I'd expect this sort of stupidity out of Brynjolf or maybe Mallory, but from you?" Gwendolyn huffs in exasperation, running long fingers through unbound hair. "He's my _fucking_ Housecarl, you brainless Breton, not a bedwarmer and certainly _not your replacement_! He was appointed as such when Ulfric Stormcloak made me Thane of Eastmarch when he was still Jarl! A title and home fitting for his Stormblade, yes?"

 _His Stormblade? Did she say..._ While he didn't personally run in the circles that the Jarls and the other well-to-do traveled, the thief knew that the older, more traditional families who ruled a Hold would have a title of respect that they would traditionally bestow upon people that they deemed unwavering in their loyalty. It seems, based on what the woman before him said, for the Stormcloaks it was Stormblade... _It is a bit strange, though... For someone who puts a lot of focus on tradition and honor, Ulfric gave the honorific to someone who seems much more at home stealing everything from a Hold rather than defending it. There's more to this though, what am I missing?_

Gwendolyn watches as Mercer's dark eyebrows furrow, the only sign the Breton was in deep thought. She had seen that look many times before in the Cistern- when he'd be pouring over the parchments, books and maps at his table, knowing when an important piece of information was just out of his grasp or if he was debating whether or not a job was lucrative enough to be worth the guild's time. She also knew what that look meant- it meant that he wasn't going to stop thinking on the question until an answer presented itself.

The man's brain continues to work through the distracting cold of the stone wall against his naked body- not that he would give her the pleasure of seeing him shiver, nor would he ask for something to separate his back from the rock. He could then figure that, due to the closeness of the title with the name of the clan, the one receiving the honor would then be seen as almost being family to the Stormcloaks... _Or in some rare cases...worthy to be part of the line itself..._ Mercer's heart skips a beat at the thought process his brain was following, not liking where it was going at all. _Would he taint his family's history even more by openly courting a thief? But wait. He's married- some woman that got hoisted on him when the Moot went._

 _ **He is miserable though, remember that. You forget something. Gwen is the Dragonborn, saved Skyrim, saved Tamriel if she's to be believed, and helped him win the war**_ , his conscience unfortunately reminds him. _**Her being the Dragonborn alone is enough for anyone, including the Bear of Markarth to overlook her checkered past. Could you imagine a child born from the two of them- the Last Dragonborn and another person that can somewhat use the Voice? How hard would it be for the Stormcloak's wife that had loyalty to the Empire to have an accident, losing her life?**_

 _The thought of Gwen even considering a proposal from that man is enough to make me sick... that and want to ban her from leaving the Guild Hall ever again. Maybe tie her to my bed in Riftweald, Shadows knows that thing doesn't get enough usage from me, let alone myself and another person. Remember, she did say regarding her power that if you "strip off all the titles, laurels and connections I have and I'm just a simple thief."_

 _ **That sort of power that comes with being the rule of Skyrim though is tempting for even the strongest of people. I don't even think if asked you'd turn the chance to rule down either. And remember, how many Daedra has she sworn oaths to just for more power? What's marrying a Jarl or High King but more power. Power is everything. Are you willing to lose this woman to someone not worthy of her? Perhaps you truly are getting old.**_

The young woman knew the pieces fell into place for the Guild Master when his eyes slowly narrow, but she was not prepared for what actually came out of his mouth. "Just how many potential suitors of yours am I going to have to ruin, Maullaine?"

 _How did he..._ Steel disks blink once, then twice, Gwendolyn not believing that Mercer could be either that dense or that... _ **that eager to prove how much he wants you**_ , her conscience tells her matter-of-factly. " _Excuse me?"_

"I want the name and location of every man that dares think they are the one for you- I don't care if they're a Jarl, Housecarl, merchant or a lowly stable hand- because none of them will truly see and appreciate you the way that I do. I told you, my bloodthirsty minx, I refuse to let you go and if I have to destroy my competition in any and all ways, I will do so." He goes to move toward the woman standing across from him, only remembering about the restraints when they pull him back to the wall. "Shadows take you woman, let me go!"

"And why should I? I think I rather like having you like this," Gwendolyn counters, giving the thick metal chain a slight tug. "Call this my claiming something that is extremely rare mine, Mercer." Her long fingers move from the cold metal of the restraints, through his disheveled hair and pushes the man back up against the wall with a searing kiss.

The chill that the Breton felt from the stone wall was soon overwhelmed with the fiery warmth that radiated from the dressed woman leaning into him, her hands brushing against his skin with feather light touches. Despite the rather... embarrassing... situation he found himself in, Mercer inwardly admitted that he wouldn't mind it happening again- on two conditions, the first being that, if the pair somehow managed to survive beyond dealing with his past demons, Gwen did _not_ make a habit of it, and two, it was never brought up in front of anyone else. It's not his fault, of course, that he had an image to maintain. Before his mind could continue down its current path, the older thief gets brought out of his reverie by the soft feel of fingers wrapping around him, the gentle hold moving slowly around his growing arousal. His head pulls back slightly, the low moan escaping his open mouth the only sound heard in the small room.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" the brunette murmurs into his now bared neck. "Perhaps I should stop- you are supposed to be punished... Maybe I should go find these supposed potential suitors you claim I have, see what I'm missing."

The soft scent of lavender wafts up from Gwen's hair, soft and unassuming. _Exactly what you and the rest of the Guild thought when she first walked into the Flagon looking for Esbern. How wrong we all were._ "Or perhaps you could unlock these restraints so I can lower my hands," Mercer goes, opening his eyes and glancing up to the body part in question, "and then I'll show you exactly why you need no one taking care of all your needs but me."

"And why should I do that? You're a Master Thief, aren't you? Surely you can get yourself out of the horker shit you landed in. I'd like to think that the Guild didn't promote a complete and utter _idiot_ to the rank of Guild Master... but things do happen."

"And _where exactly_ would I have a lockpick on me at this time given my lack of dress?"

Gwendolyn doesn't say anything, just gives him a slight smile and takes a step back. Two thin fingers slowly pull the required item from her cleavage, the dull metal glinting slightly in the torchlight. Moving back in front of the bound male, she brings the thief tool just into his line of vision and taps him lightly on the nose. "I suppose I could let you have this one, but I'm not just going to allow you to free yourself without some sort of test."

A sandy eyebrow raises slightly at the challenge, but if the minx wanted to see him work, who was he to deny her anything? "This shouldn't take long. Do tell then."

He feels the lockpick move downwards, over his closed mouth, trailing lightly over where his heart was beating wildly in his chest, coming to a stop against his erection. "I know you'll have no problem getting yourself free, but the bigger question is where did I put your armor and gear? I don't think you'll want to go running naked through the streets of Windhelm this late at night, nor will you fit into anything Calder owns. You probably could wear Sifnar's clothes, but he's the cook up in the palace. Do you hope that you don't freeze on your way up there, break into the palace stark naked and attempt to find his wardrobe? Or do you ransack Hjerim in search for them, which in the end might not be the prize you really want." The tool makes its way back up his body and just as Gwendolyn slips the piece of iron into his fingers, she goes "Personally, I love having you chained to my wall- the things I could do to you with no one around to see, having you at the mercy of my fingertips. Shame. You only get one of these, Mercer, so make it count."

* * *

A/N This chapter was going to be much longer, but I decided to cut it off here because it seemed like a decent spot to stop.

The concept of the holder of the title Stormblade being seen as worthy to be part of the Stormcloak family is not mine (Shame, because it's a bloody awesome idea). I came across it in BrunetteAutorette99's story The Bear and The Wolf which is here on Fanfiction. They were nice enough to let me borrow the idea and torment Mercer with the thought of Gwen possibly becoming the Bear of Markarth's wife. Believe me though, they do a much better job of utilizing it than I do, so go and read it- it's now in my favorited stories, so it shouldn't be hard to find.

The next chapter I'm finding to be slightly elusive in where it wants to go. I want it to go one way and it's like sure, but eventually it changes its mind. Let's see where this ride takes us next.


End file.
